the shell (2005)

i ground it right into my skin.
straight through the thin of my back,
pale and luminescent in the moonlight under that bridge.
my spine arching through my skin
to taste the powder
now mingling with blood.

i could have imagined it.
afterwords,
four shards remained
-the only evidence of a treasured gift-
like little white teeth worn
down from gnawing my body.

the rest of it gone.

blown into the river below, perhaps,
dust settling on an intrusive bullfrog.
likely most of it was left on our perch,
unseen by the little boy zeus and i
long tired from climbing and sweating together.

at night, when my body misses you most
-the lonely hours when i pretend it's not the sheet touching me but your hands-

i like to think it's been absorbed.
sneaking in somehow through some crack in my spine,
sleepwalking up to rest, maybe, in the space behind my eyes
or joining the fabric of my skin.
Or better, hardening into my nails,
the very ones i use to dig your back.
we hurt each other like this.