You do your routine
on the crown of my head
which is smooth as hardwood floors now.
Cleared out by your tap dancing feet.
I will make my home
in that corner of our bathroom
that gets misted by shower water.
I will dig myself into the floor
like a barnacle
and keep myself alive on crumbs
dragged in on the bottom of your feet.
I will live my life in a moist cocoon
and take myself on vacation
to the winterlands of our bathtub.
If I were only a heart,
a twitching, muscled mass
of blood and fire,
I’d have worn myself
down to ashes long ago.
I smile and nod and tuck myself
into smaller and smaller pieces.
I pluck off limbs like cricket legs,
hide them under my mattress
so no one will see I am overflowing.
Growing heads in my sleep.