Carlos, why do I have to put titles on things I don't want to give titles to? Peace, love, Poo

You knew it didn’t you? Coming out like coming. The line, elation from your breast. A gulp and words become fruit, excess, planted. Our arid bodies. I feel jolts, the squeezed warm tingle. Rain. fiiiizzzzzFull lungs. I feel it from you and from you. Poet to poet to poem. I bite down to the nail, I don’t want blood, just underneath. Is this why I bite my lips, peel back layers? I molt skin thick as feathers, let it fall, collect the damage. Glue them together. A tired little bird keeper