by Farai Chaka okeykat/Unsplash The woman inking my skin said her sister died giving birth, and it was bewildering, the sway of trees afterwards. This earth is all wind and bad seeds. I am lying down shirtless, dry, and to be touched by a stranger is still intimacy. I did, l promise, try to want myself more, drink two cups less coffee each day, kiss my love and let my body do its faithful work. One pure way I’ve been half forgiven is how she sits on a patch of window light in