I rub it raw at just the thought of you, no need to feed my
head with the parade of pictures you used to greet me with each morning, all of
it, branded in my brain, like the mark on a steer in a cattle drive.
I am forever owned, even if I am lost in the herd, driving
to a frenzy at the least sound at night, a single stud in a stampede of my own
making.
I rub it raw until I can’t rub it anymore, until I get it
all out of me, until sleep drags me into dreams where I do it all again,
rubbing hard before I get lost in that limbo of memory to which I no longer
have a right to claim as my own, just a lost steer aching to be branded and owned
again.
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