Poems are my flecks of skin I
want people to take home
After a reading last year Jordan told me
he likes my poems but they are only
skin cells
So Jordan wants my blood
wants to syringe my heart
and keep it in a bottle
That’s what I did
then he said I want to be inside you
So he wants to wear my skin
A me hanging in a closet limp
and lifeless A clothesline
of me and me and me
to be opened like a coin
purse and slip in
Yes. Jordan says
he wants to eat me
James Croal Jackson (he/him) has a chapbook, The Frayed Edge of Memory (Writing Knights Press, 2017), and poems in Pacifica, Reservoir, and Rattle. He edits The Mantle Poetry. Currently, he works in the film industry in Pittsburgh, PA. His website: https://jimjakk.com.
Eunoia Review 
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