trace your words up my neck, baby,
undress my wounds with your lips,
peel back the gauze that’s wrapped round
tight,
and become my own arterial tourniquet.

your presence amputates
a lifetime of hurt,
your touch the saw, the undertaker of extremities lost,
but not missed.

chopping the rot off clean,
you stitch worship into my jagged flesh,
ripped and pulled apart from years of battle, of begging,
of broken bones.
how many times did i perch upon my bed, knees up,
reckoning with fate?
how many times did my eyes flicker across your face,
gazing at a chance of absolution,
unknowingly?

to be close to the knife is my tragedy,
slip the blade through my ribs and i’ll pull in closer.
but some cuts are needed,
and my skin is your canvas,
though, you have never been a violent man.
it is your gentleness that unmakes.
my sweet unraveller, carve out the infestation with soft hands,
repeat the ritual until purity;
it is simple, just as i taught you:

gut the fish,
clean out the belly.

open your eyes
and you will see it:
face hidden,
lips lifted.
my obvious secret.

you consume:
tapentadol for lost teeth,
refrigerated dreams,
and my cardiac muscle;
unseen by the blazing light
for months, for years.
locked far away,
as all witches should be.

you are
blue like my sky,
blue like my- what?
like my new road?
my black country that is no more?

you thief!
how i see you clearly now.