I rub the clam shell
with both my thumbs,
and think of you,
wearing myself raw,
leaving bits of flesh behind
for you to remember me by,
a jealous child,
hurting all over
except where the skin
rubs raw.
I rub the clam shell
with both thumbs
to cure the ache
that goes deep down
into my bones.
The more I rub, the worse it gets,
I need to rub all of
me
against all of you,
leave me smeared over all of you,
to relieve the pain.
The clam shell’s pattern
imprinted on me, inside of me,
just as you are
thumbs feeling the
rough surface,
rubbing it smooth,
though it is my flesh that wears out first,
until I have no more
flesh to give,
still, I keep rubbing.
No comments:
Post a Comment