and me and her:

i took her for my own, my prize animal to drill into
nothing sacred but she hid so much, buried her sonnets
under a lack of sentiment; i still breathed her in

i wanted her set in sheets, spread and arching and wanton
she would turn her face from me, so i could bite at her neck,
my hands would slide to frame her; i revered her silently

we stumbled fumbled and groped, not understanding at all
that we were two and yet one, and yet still two not in harmony
living on little scraps of her, the bits she let me borrow