there is rubble underneath the candle burning.
the flame has glazed my heart with wax.
i am still.
i can not read you-
your words are a score whose notes are foreign.
i have chewed on this for so long-
my gums are enflamed,
and my jaw is sore.
i feel possessive.
my veins restrict,
and i am overwhelmed by the need to etch my name onto your bed frame.
there can't be anyone else.
because i have wax stuck to my hands,
and it is drying just as brisk as i swallow your name.
