The Letting Go

Skin taunt like over ripe fruit
velveteen under your mouth
the way it eventually

and splits

against the guillotine
of your teeth

I yield to your sharp edges

I yield
I yield

there is an opening
in the cosmic imprint of time
and I fall through

burrow beneath the
layers of
gristle and flesh
the tendons strung tight
as your mania
the muffled drum
of womb and pumping blood

the silence between us
threatens to untether me

I’m left grasping for roots
that never took

just your warmed flesh
and thick fingers
fishhook pressed against
slippery pubic

pinned and gasping

I let go

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