попутчик ~ {iii}

{iii}  
i knocked, if only to find my spine
in your claw-footed belly  
where i left it to  
collect the sloughed cells  
of potential.  
our brevity lingered,  
a water stain on the ceiling
from which i  
licked the absurdity of  
3am confessions.
 
{ii}
it may have been the sight of my lighter in your hands,  
fingers cupping the breath of orange from the wind  
as you drew the flare deep into the lines on your face,  
as i watched the harshness fade from your bones  
when you lay back against borrowed sheets & stolen time,  
darkly beautiful & entitled.  
 
{i}
you mounted my skin to the wall,  
folded the frame of my organs into  
the decay of now & never again  
{maybe}  
as it ate & fed the frenetic demand  
of voice & tongue & hips
 
the sky tasted of guilt as my eyes  
crawled across the windows  
& kissed the silence.