untitled

(c) 2011-2012 'Safira B'

a shroud of night frames my face
and it makes it easier, right?

poverty.
hungry mouth, thirsty hands,
binging on the ghost 

of your hand against my fingertips.

skin arching forward, aching
splitting apart, red pushing through the seams,
pooling to the ground and winding
snake-like around the warmth of your waist.

i am not merely human.
smooth venusian valleys and cleopatra calves
obscured by a waterfall of bitter
blackened burdens

i can feel
so
feel me.

crumbs are not enough.