you held onto my tongue like it was the only
thing left and it's sharp but
your grip refuses to loosen
stare at your bloodied hand without so much
as a wince and remind yourself that you
have always loved parts of me even when
they tore your skin and stained your
palms and forced your eyes open in the
middle of the night because you dreamt of
the day my edges caught your throat
YOU ARE READING
Wasp
PuisiA collection of poetic ramblings tucked neatly into one small corner of the internet.
