his fingers trace the curves of my ribs, and he tells me that i am beautiful.
and then i tell myself, i will not eat today.
there is a perverse pleasure in these moments when i catch my body forming anatomical topography where it used to be an unbroken landscape swollen with only soft hills and low rises. a deep valley here, where my waist hollows out beneath a crest of costal cartilage; a sharp mountain range here, where my hips thrust skyward in bony peaks. the secret caves surrounding my clavicle; the visible landmarks of my spine. the cartography of my body carved out of oxygen, water, black coffee, sugarfree gum.
and although he maps me with his hands, lifting me with extraordinary ease, i am still waiting to feel lighter. light enough for my bones to hollow out,
hollow enough to finally take flight.