That night, I wasn’t hungry
for food. I have never been hungry
for food, not when desire
is at the table. Bread
tasted like ash, when blood
was what I wanted. Yours.
I asked the gods for you, but they said no. I don’t
know why, don’t know
what offering had failed, I thought
I gave so much. I thought
I gave it all, all that I had
I paced the rooms inside
my claustrophobic heart. It’s always been
a cage, a jail, a surefire way to lose
that one last hand of poker, betting on
this heart that never
wanted me to win.
Give me a knife. I’ll carve it out, for you.
Fall, ash. Clang, keys upon the cage. The gods
are always hungry. Look, beloved, look —
after it’s done, after it’s said and done,
the blood was mine, and I was wrong.
I still had more to give.