my hands have been cold for a while,
no fire making me sweat
no heat making me writhe
and I stopped writing,
I stopped that engraving of my pen
for a man.
his purity swallowed what I felt
was all of me
and there I was
scraping at my insides trying to make something,
shape something out of my nostalgia
for the burning in my throat and my cold sunrise toes
where the ****
WAS I
where is that force behind me
that I felt destroyed all other things
where is that tenacity to be completely rough and raw
dripping
dripping
drip
I was swallowed by that man
and my love for his ****** soul
so I put careful gloves
on my ***** fingers
and he never knew

the soil in my nails

as I slowly extracted his heart
in a maneuver to revive my
passion