My mind drifts to Tracey’s big canvases—
The blood,
The love,
The pink,
The sobs,
The hate,
The nipples,
All that truly matters.

What if she dies?
What if she stops,
Leaving behind fragments
I can never piece together?
What if I never get to see her
See through her again?

-s
London, Oct. 8, 2024