Untitled I

* * *

Stone on stone,
My soul scrapes dry
Like a mortar and pestle,
I eat my bitterness finely ground.

In my heart you will find the head of a scythe
Or something like it
Black granite, flecked white
Cold and hard and narrow.

Such a soft organ twists hopelessly against it
Aches to be free,
To quit such a miserable thing
Falling to knees even as it drops to the kitchen floor.

Stone on stone,
My soul grates, dry.
Scraping the bottom, unyielding
Falling to knees before the bedroom window.

1 August 2013

III

III

At that time I desired you so much
That I could’ve consumed you.
Eaten you whole,
Leaving nothing.

It seemed I wanted everything—
Your face/your mouth/your hands
Your mind (which I was afraid of)
And your smooth cold skin.

You must have heard these thoughts in the night.
They whispered down hallways,
Stealing into your room
Wrapping themselves around your ears.

Restless, they could not be controlled
Under my skin glowing hot
Ravenous, and at a moment’s notice
Ready to consume.

24 May 2013