Like the pulse of a machine, gravity gives weight to things
	and you shed your skin as you come in           
serpentine and delicate

gathering shadows as you move
like a sea haze

or someone crying from far away
or watching a movie with the sound off

and every time you move
   		   you make an ocean’s movement
   	blurring masculinity into walls
a shade of flesh and gold
running honey around your body

I try to slide out of mine too
—hindered by convention and sinew—
tissue uniting muscle to bone or bone to bone; 
a tendon or      ligament

	Don’t
	leave plastic flowers on my grave
I’m aesthetically sensitive, and prone to eczema

	and
	I don’t like seafood
but
	I’m partial to the odd Leviathan
	thrashing and flapping in my stomach
	and
	I don’t like to look at shampoo bottles
	that other people leave in the shower
	so
	I turn them around
	and 
	I squint when I walk past the mirror
	to obscure my self-loathing and wrinkles
	and
	sometimes my local sushi restaurant plays hip hop
	and
	sometimes it plays Christian music
	but
	I like this
	because it lets me daydream about the waitresses
	and I wonder, do they like each other?
	then
	I read an article in the newspaper
	about Tai, a 17-year-old Māori boy
	—he’s won a scholarship to study at Columbia University—
	(it’s like winning a spot at Hogwarts, he says)
	and talks about how his fluency in te reo Māori
	and how important this is to him.

	I start to cry in the middle of the sushi restaurant

(today they are playing Christian music)
	
	and
	then I read an article about Jacinda Arden’s upcoming nuptials
	they interview Hawkes Bay locals
	“she was a key figure during some of the country’s
	darkest days,” one lady says
	“…and you know everyone loves love,” she gushes


		and I wonder, is this true?