At times I do not recognize
the steel that slinks under my skin.
My extremities grow lax;
my teeth gnash and dull;
and I cannot find anywhere the monster
that lurks caged within my heart.
All I am softens beneath her.
I bleed fabric to embrace her skin to mine;
my dreams, already, render themselves
dosed in her summer coloured eyes.
But the world does not dye itself with her
seasons,
does not cradle me like her gaze.
For these days I do not mesmerize
For these mornings
Rust creeps from my fingernails.
