Let me surrender
not to you, not to love,
but to the small, cracked animal I’ve buried inside.
I am incapable
stone-lunged, frost-hearted,
the rooms of me echo like unlit attics.
Your voice
thin wire through winter air
the only sound that shakes the dust,
makes the dead moths flutter
against the glass of my ribs.
Still
I stay rock.
I stay ruin.
I stay
unmoved,
except,when you speak.