Craters mark my heart where your fingertips have touched too hard.
I treat the burns with chemicals and smoke,
with inhalations and exhalations and a series of
gentle sighs as I watch the dust particles dance for each other.
I unbutton men with my eyes now that you’ve left me like an old apartment.
They clutch at my face with shaking fingers, their kisses
tasting like menthol ashes and red wine, and they tell me the glory
of the space between my thighs and I smoke my clove cigarettes.
The only way to suck the marrow from my bones is to go in through my heart.
You learned that faster than all the rest and
now there’s nothing left for them anyway; a phantom
haunts this skin and she’s bored of them already.