Your back to me sets fire to the kindle of my intuition. 

Your eyes stand alone in the room of masks and

veils and I catch them as I always do. 

Sharp; while I cup the outline of your jaw

in my eager hands-the ghosts of our forgotten

secret transcending from my palms.

I reach into my chest, throw that blood soaked

organ into the words that run sweet like vinnegar.

My humility holds your steady gaze as I feed off of it 

for days. Starved from the mockery of teased neglect.

Left to ferment in the blood at the edge of a wolf’s sharpest tooth. 

I wait.

-b