400 odd days
some might
accept it,
but with you
I am dead.
filled with water
to my sunken eyebrows.

the tigers now walk with me.
the ones that
walked back and forth
as shadows.
that was not love.
no beast,
nor growl
has found love.

I am without sight
of your
wiry lips.
the ones that quivered
like most ponds do,
having life beneath them.
yours did not.

the tigers sit,
ending tail on my legs
over blankets.
i wish to talk
with them
but like me
they have fallen.

hell
within four hundred,
your legs
that bruise so easily
your guilt
your selfish appetite for
love.

take all of my water
and leave
this place.
the tigers pervert me now.