the intricacies of the
veins on her chest
intimate sea creatures
or blue lace, the colours and delicate
line drawing
crawling across her collarbones,
nipples, like dribbles of spattered watercolour
with her
body arched open and back
the skin stretches into
translucence and there they are,
the blue
pathways, covering her with maniacally fragile hands
a grimace like
a glass in pieces
a moan like a
fisherman’s hook caught deep in an intestine
pulling, pulling
against her
nature, her delicacies,
her spider lashes,
she begs
staring as he sighs, no,
I don’t want to hurt you
much
the blue of her breasts, blue of
her neck and he closes his hands
and then
the black wipes her clean, so clean
a deep black, nearly
purple like her lips
open
mouthed she cannot even moan; she thinks:
stay with me, stay awake, move, keep moving
for god sake
move your limbs around, make your hands some claws
for god sake move your limbs around
or
he’ll think you’ve died
he’ll think you’ve
died
the thought scares her and she hovers,
quivering like a fish
slipping out but never
beyond reach and
tying off the nerves
one by one until they are sleeping, empty
peaceful and
hungry