Hollowed

You can come in here
when you want to,
cast shadows on the back wall,
harden off what's vulnerable,
pluck leaves from ungrown vines,
tower over what's innocent,
create hot dark matter,
and I won't mind
until the small hours
when you'll kiss my head,
and leave,
as they all would
because my throatbox is a crow,
my control more like a fever,
because, so I tell myself,
I was made to be alone.