11.09.06 8:55 am

apply the blade just so
with pressure enough
to puncture through.
feel the dull pull of skin
with every slice, the hesitant
seam of red that rises to trace
your every orchestration.
hear my gasp and sigh
as finally, I can flow.

I can try to tell you about
the sad little details;
puzzle pieces that when put
together make up a picture
of nothing but blue deep
motionless sea.

scientists have yet to discover
ninety-five percent of what exists
below the surface of the ocean;
we take care to know more
about the dead seas on mars
than what is right in front of us.

outside I hear the desperate rain wash
over this prickly grey city; the neighbors
make love above me, moans
like mourning doves. last night
their yelling echoed through the empty
rooms of my apartment as I sat alone
watching a spider slowly climb its
night journey up my cold wall.

I want to feel your fingers grab me,
split me apart, bone by breaking
bone until I scream whiteness
into damp saltwater sheets;
pound me chew me bless me,
piece by aching piece, until there
is nothing left in this quicksand bed
but the tendrils of my seaweed hair
and the hollow shell that carries
nothing but the echoes of the ocean.