But there was no water anywhere there.
I found no water there at all.
I found no water there at all.
What heated dream isn't wet? I
wonder if all this blood might
count for anything; whose thirst
is it meant to slake? His hunger
unsettles, an unwelcome presence
for which I always keep a place.
He's never seen this room, ours,
but your chair was his; I wonder
why can't I get rid of it easily
but there's seldom simplicity in
separation. You scrape your skin
with your knife, ribcage a guard
against what I might take. Did I
already steal it? Why else might
you unmake yourself for me?
Why die to armor the ocean?