Water Me

The hollow of my body when crumpled into dreams
Needs a hand to hold, needs to feel firm land between
Fingers intertwined: someone will never let me drown.

I turn my palms up, half-shredded carrots,
Strings of flesh clinging, still, to you. Rough skin,
Or maybe I have melt off. In my mind I test the image

Against my palms, sharp and keen (I’ve confirmed:
It cuts): lying in bed as I stare at our knuckles turning white.
Clamshell hands of ours, I breathe in wonder.

It has been too long now, the ghost marks of you has faded,
As blood rushes to the surface when your skin is no longer on
Mine. It craves life as a blood sucking plant. Bloodied

Lips. I lick their cracks and test their memory of water
And you. Do they remember your voice? Your voice like
Soft guitar, the sound of lips on skin, kisses

On the shoulder, you drawing a breath and planting
A searing murmur of worship. Gentle,
Gentle afternoon. In my mind the image comes

Easy. I am a plant now, a succulent, and therefore
Drying with neglect. Water me now. My lips part into
A sigh: water me now.