Anatomy of a Fool
Dissect me with your sharp eyes,
please,
across my chest
to let the breeze
that caressed your hair
cool my spine.
Until then, oxygen is an old cripple
crawling in my lungs.
My heart: the beggar on the steps
of your mansion and it wouldn't mind the taste
of your feet.
Crush, I beg of you, crush!
my young bones, oil my joints,
and ignite it with your tongue of fire
or better yet, use the smallest spark as
I weld slow with you
irises
dilating from the dark.
Cut my wings
for your pillow to be plum-
at night, rest on my burning muscles
for warmth.
And when you leave,
Leave breadcrumbs in your direction
and I'll fight the birds circling
above me- for I starve for your
affection.
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