And then I tell you
you make me feel better. I eat the fruit
and the bread—the body, you say—and I go
so far as to eat the core and the vine
the vine the vine the vine even after
you’ve told me to stop. It’s cold in here,
I say, and you nod as if this were
the simplest math in the world. I ask you
to stay, and still you go. I eat the vine
until my gums bleed, but you ignore me.
You cast me out as if I were silver water
on a blood lake. I offer coffee and more bread
but you’re already gone, and the offer is left
hanging only only only only only for the sake
of a doorknob. Please, I say, to no one, don’t
leave me open like this. I’ve left the door
unlocked for you.