i would open up my wrists [jp/p]    i would open up my wrists like the doors of my father's art deco Chevy, to the sweet blistering sound of your sub-Saharan voice. and watch as the reds and rusted siennas fell at my feet, burying me. burying the wishes    like water from the mouth of my tub to the mouth of my head:    don't call here again.    call one more time and tell me    you love me.    like you do.    let me lick    the L's and V's    wrap my legs around your vowels,    go down on the spaces    arrested between hopes. i would open up these wrists for the sound of your ifs turning into promises, just hypervented oxide sailing past my ears, little lost messengers pouring vows across my skin and between your hands:    but i will settle    for your heat    your heart beating on the emptiness of these unmoved sheets which have recorded your shape so permanently beside me.