punch,
press,
knead,
shoved a handful of
bruised pride into a soft body,
and gave it a name,
sent it out to the world,
made it give everything,
and took it back,
undid the threads in the buttons of its spine,
and scooped out the weak muscles,
named one love,
named one lust,
named them twins,
and cast them back,
into the world,
with a handful of
warm sun in love,
and black moon in lust,
and a red string
tying them together
until they met again
at the end of the line
at the end of the subway platform.
now all there is to do
is to-
call me back.
