the poetry of your face when i look at it has dwindled and trailed off like you tend to when you don’t know what to say. i have to field that reaction from you when i don’t want to. i could call you a spade but if the shoe fits you should buy it, no matter the color, no matter your threadbare wallet. you are sharp like a spade. sharp nose, elbows like i imagine a spade if it was animate and crestfallen. touching small things, like my cheek. my clit. my wrist between your fingertips. you still aren’t sorry. i crave the muted tingling of a phantom limb. it only makes sense to cut you completely, navel to nose. i make struggle to climb from my shell, all robin’s egg blue. i work hard to catch you on the flip side.
