your hands, greedy and persistant,
are clever beyond their years.
one minute running across my skin,
and the next digging and gripping,
claiming a gnarled clump of flesh as their own.
i try to breathe, try to stay shallow,
but you are far too much to handle.
i dont understand...
to embrace my skinless bones in your arms,
to devour everything that i am,
to take pleasure in this,
time and time again...
i question my allegiance to conciousness.
i need to stand boldly again,
acknowledge my bias for your astounding grace,
and feed it right back to you.
you...a vulture waiting for my final collapse.
maybe your wings have room enough for me.