on greedily wanting when you're already full

Of all the words, the most beautiful, the most powerful, the most comforting


For what? What for? I let myself prise open.

I feel myself fragmented on my own yellow sands.

Shards not glittering. No longer “pudor.”


Corner to corner, like the beams that first force themselves in the gap between my curtains.

It falls onto you

I fell into you

And now I must fall out again.


The End

1 comment about this poem Feed