The Bones Beneath

Less

This isn’t enough; I want less.

I want the fairies to play music on my r i b s,

Outstretched like the branches of their heart-home.

This isn’t enough; I undress

And the mirror glares like an old-school teacher

With a righteous cane and sadist intentions.

This isn’t enough; I’m a mess

Of dreams of melting, osmosing,

Of breaking like birds in the shivering sky.

This isn’t enough; I confess

That cold, walking, sometimes doors

Are mini, fameless odysseys.

This isn’t enough; I, temptress

Who tore at temptation,

Strive and starve and strive.

This isn’t enough; I want less.

And I will never be wantless.