And I 

with chalk in my mouth

and fear cradled close, my infant, my heart 

wait for you here in the crush:

violent, moontossed, 

a green that fades to grey then black.

Sing me your verses. 

My counterpoint is dull, delivered

in an exhale of grime, halo around my mouth

where the chalk 

and carbon and salt and ice 

balloons out, crest of a tideless moan.

I fall silent.

Feverish and full of anxiety

for all the ways you will hurt me, my blood

seizes the chance to escape.

Lunar, waning, I am a trough,

hollowed for your words and your nails.