do you remember the siren in my throat? the howl of her, the empty vessel? do you think of me sometimes, think of how often my fingers unmade the buttons at the collar of your longing? how I unlaced the cement that held your damaged pieces together into something resembling personhood? how you painted me with the blood of your amnesiac sins, how I came to be the shrine of all your broke and all your bent? do you ever wonder how I look now, draped around new frames and coaxed by honey that drips from new fingers? do you ever miss those nights, the half-light of the bathtub, the shrine of bare thighs and the drip drip drip as you watch me melt into something black and shimmering on the surface maybe like blood maybe like nothingness and do you desperately try to take handfuls as I slip away like sinking ocean down the drain?