If something’s not difficult, I don’t feel like I’m doing it right

No, I won’t be getting adult braces.
The creases on the outsides of my wrists will stay.
While I’m on the subject, they got that way
from all these months of leaning over you in bed,
propped up on straight arms, floating over your face.
How can I begrudge these lines – or the tooth
either, that juts out just a bit too much?
Today I pledge I will relax into my neck’s new folds,
its crepe gathering like the curtains in a noiseless room.
Here is a sinking I won’t resist, an inkling
I fear: that this face and body are merely a thing,
and what does that make me? This bicuspid that will not fit.
These ill-fitting clothes I must throw out, but can’t.
This hair that isn’t really red.
This bier that is but practice for another bed.

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