grave in me

​

deep within where your meat shows.

naivety of you just picking at and inside yourself where I pointed and you shaking your head yes yes yes yes yes

 

several women with children in their bellies were torturing their own knees bleeding and close to broken.

 

my space a reservoir and

yours vacant your presence our only vector

i smell burning animals from a local butcher

an exhalation of subordination on everything that was mine

over her head

one woman believed in God and prayed for her on her knees.

a bind to tether her to my general sphere. i pulled the bind taut and sat next to her

 

the first time i basked in vanilla lying on my back with one knee facing upward

one of your thighs on either side and me thinking "who taught her this?"

my first romantic portal. she was a lamb. high tolerance for pain. a meek presence with thick skin beneath. my favourite kind is fun to chase.

 

she says "god sent her shoes and maybe he's real" she lied right before digging a grave in me. i always wish the woman had not prayed.