Scavengers and Saints

Puzzle pieces scattered across a table.
Who cares if we don't eat. Better to put
it together than to quell our hunger.
One look at you, my heart flutters
with a lost song. Don't call it love.
Love tastes like ashes against
my tongue. Listening to the chorus
I remember you from before.
I wish the feeling of missing you
wasn't so strong. It's an aural illusion.
The train rumbles over Manhattan bridge
the building lights we pass remind me
of lives being lived behind closed doors alone.
You travel away and I want to whisper words
in your ear tonight. Be well. Do not seek danger.
Remember me when you are alone.
Don't forget to send me a word. Just one.
Softly. And smile. It always reaches me,
fills me up to my head, makes my scalp tingle,
I feel full of you in the dark. I keep writing
to you on my skin. There are lines that connect us.
Can you read them or should I write louder?
The damage is done, you are thin-razor marks
etched onto me.  It hardly hurts. You are a muse
or a grey dove expecting seeds from my hand.
We all want answers. I've wrapped myself
around you and you've hardly noticed. Who cares,
after all, they are only feelings falling off a tree.
You will never take a bite off the fruit. You'll lose
a tooth if you dare. You cover your heart for good
measure. Don't worry I won't hurt you, much.
A woman carries purple orchids. A flower dying
on the vine in cold water. You know I'm a predator
but you don't mind being devoured. When the walls
are quiet you imagine me moaning on top of you.
How well you know me before we've even met naked.
I hold you in my mind as I walk on this cold night.
I am contracting. I want only what you are willing
to offer freely. This lonesome feeling will only last
as long as the season. When you are ready
to share your despair, remember me fondly.


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