I love you like you have the only **** in the world
and I say “I want to die” as if I am not dissolving already,
crimson buds sprouting through my gown
stain your lips where they suckle the infection, my poison.

Secrets are in my liquid and you want to find them:
know the other voices I have listened to,
the slick girls I kissed, whose form fumbled with mine.  

But there is a prize under your garments I did not see
with women who stood on me like a veranda
gauging how many splinters they could detain in their toes
and not sample my blood after they slit my thighs apart.

I was once full of myself, now full of you
someway a vein with no sustenance is not limp when held.