Metastati

As long as you think of me when you wake, you said.
If only you stayed inside my head,
yet I am a story of how gli affari della mente
become affairs of the flesh.

The thought of you starts in my brain.
Before long, you’ve passed through cells,
into blood.
After all,
metastasis travels through veins.

I first noticed it in the mirror,
your skin entangled with mine,
your gentle fingers shaping me,
Like clay.

But I wish I were granite,
and your hands a chisel
striking faster, harder,
Crude but with no delay.

Or do I tell you how my eyes they betray,
begging me to turn your way.
And my body it obeys,
both in love and in lust
non perché voglio, ma devo.
Not because I want, but because I must.

And in nightmares where you vanish,
my breath sits diminished, lungs collapse
My body convulses, starved of your scent.
Does flesh survive losing for what it was meant?

Or does a starving body consume itself raw,
Unrestrained and apace
Ligament torn from ligament and joint from joint
Only to reassemble in your arms embrace

So if I were to die,
too soon like in my dreams,
whispers of you would seep from my blood and bones.

And the soil, now nourished, would recite your name.

For as long as I was meant to love you