The Visitor

She came to visit me last night,

lips cracked, knuckles bleeding.

She's off again, trembling with want.

She's come to light a fire, come to steal my light.

Her fingers find their way around my neck

I watch the colors dance under my skin,

a flock of violet blue nests on my bones.

Hands of rust and throats of sand.

It was not love, but it was the best we could do.