creatured
We reside in
the heart behind the heart —
wet, dark concave where want and will marry,
where the most base desire lurks.
Against my better judgment,
I become creatured —
after years of bearing a hunger that
burrowed, patient and low.
Once we stumbled here.
Now baited.
Now trapped.
What moved in me coiled tighter,
waiting for the command.
A martingale collar
braided with silken platitudes
still constricts
when the second heart pulls —
and I hold.
I hold.
The form endures.
Ruined
but with both hands
not yet closed.