honey & homesickness

taming

i.

Try to quiet the aching riot that gnaws at the rust in her chest. Her fingers taste like rebellion, like a gasp, like a promise. Her fingers taste like spearheads and survival.

Your words fizzle out as they hit her skin.

ii.

Her body is an oil spill.

iii.

You see a battleground. You see your face in the fatality.

iv.

Her skeleton is rusted over, and her fingers taste like haunting, taste like surrender. You see her face in the ashy ground. You see a battle won.