Cool black splinters, too deep to track,
crowded by thick, warm flesh.
Through circular fingerprints you
have threaded, escaping the silky
hollows that still wait
to be antiquated
and regarded with sorrow,
closer than safety,
fiery ice.
I follow the mere shrapnel
of you, unfolded,
soft to your cool,
to dark needles and
the clashing grey hooks
you sigh
and send through
the skin of my bones.
To you
I send worms, those that
burrow into the roots,
blood sweet marrow,
unscathed and
full.














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