I had my hand between my legs

and every part of me hummed in a way that

made me forget my name and I didn’t care,

I didn’t care,

I did not care

so long as that feeling persisted.

I was wound so tight I feared I might shatter

the thin threads that had just begun to sew me together.

I feared I might break, like a promise you can’t keep, and then

I do break.

I break and I shatter and

the threads and the cords along with me, and

maybe I make a sound,

a whimper or a moan and

maybe I bite my lip and break the skin there, and

my legs spread like butterfly wings,

flying up before I shiver and fall.

Maybe.

I'm back in my own skin

and my mouth tastes like the rust and salt of blood.

The hum having retreat from my body an instant

before it wracks through me again,

hitting me all at once,

more tsunami than wave and

maybe I cave to its power,

maybe I drown in it,

sinking deeper as the tides crash against me,

binding my breath to its rhythm.

Maybe

I ache but I can’t stop

Maybe

I deserve this hurt

Maybe

I deserve this punishment.

So

I lose count of the number of times I break

I lose count of the number of unspoken, unbroken promises.

I lose track of the number of ways I’ve loved him,

almost said it,

missed my chance and

now it’s gone.

I lose track of the number of ways I’ve lost him,

even as his name binds itself to my mind

and the fingers between my thighs.

Maybe

I loved him too much

3 a.m