Bare-boned bloody-eyed flesh / just skin to conquer. Twisted into a map / leafy paper: bent, bruised, broken. / I sharp, glass that cuts. But cold doesn’t last too long, says the man / I cower, I reach my hands out. / They cry in the name of shackles / but he is not jail. My body / shakes with mutiny. It senses an uprising / soft, painless, sweet. Not hungry for my blood / he hovers. Mouth open, then closed. / I but a foreigner to his language / of Love. / Hold my breath and maybe he can’t tell. I shake / he becomes home. His eyes / ropes to pull me in. He knows me / but I don’t. I sponge. I a trap. / He doesn’t care. He says he loves me anyway. 

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