Ill act as though these keystrokes are blades
Carving words upon your screen,
My fingers slash open, dancing along the cracks-
But blood betrays, as my words will.
It won’t shed.
Words full of taste, taste full of smell,
Smell full of touch, and touch full of memory,
That won’t spill for you.
You can’t read between their lines
Can’t remember their colour,
Can’t sense their magnetized need,
When all you see is drips of pooling nothing,
Mingling on an etched glass.