The first snow of the year, glinting wet.
I imagined you there with me, huddled beneath the blankets.
You, eyes closed, squeezed me tighter into you.
I'd rise, hoping you would follow.
I would return without a glimpse, warmed by your blood.
A curl of you still left on my fingers.
I live for a man who lives for nothing.
A love without flesh.
I see myself from afar, a past life present tense.
Peel back the sky and expose the fire.
Let the velvet fill your lungs.
I see myself from afar, a past life present tense.
I see myself from afar, a past life present tense.
It feels like the apocalypse.
Your presence changes nothing.
Separate and complete.
I'm worried for you.
The way your mouth curves.
Swollen lips part for mine.
It's like droplets, a splash of paint.
I smelled you on him yesterday.
I felt like home.
He had my soul the night before.
One stretch tight to the corners of the table.
It all snaps back.
Blood flows.
Your fingernails are stained and I no longer have hands.
I'm floating, hovering, inches off the ground.
Bloated stomach, rising acid, a slight pulse in my neck.
Fluttering agony.
Shoulders hunched against the frost.
I was frozen.
Blood drains from my head.
Down my fingertips.
My puddle forms on my feet.
Rushing.
Cleansing.
The first to whisper my name in longing.
The first to whisper my name in longing.
