I clamber around your neck, eager and sharp, 

twisting folds of skin between my horned hands. I am

bright-eyes, pest-bearing. 

Touch me here, where the flesh fades out to pink.

What were we in another life? 

I threaten you now, perverse, dear, trained and untenable.

Whether we were meant to meet is inconsequential. 

The import of this moment is its own affirmation.

You will be heavy in the casket, light in the grave. Your blue eyes

crest at the mouth of me. Your warm hands

clutch at the grip of me. I am never

full, I am always empty, and I will never

be fulfilled.