For Malvin II

She decided to stand outside

'Don't take your clothes off,'
she reminded,

caught in that moment of 23,
stinging of holy Dettol
and surgeoncy of self inflicted pain

You were on your chair
my focal point of sight
was on your focal point of sight of something;
Unravelling magic in your phalanges

but in my flight of fancy
there's more magic your fingers can do than what your occupation calls for

"Can I help you?' you said

You can't recall me from that day
I guess you have girls who pierce their sternums everyday

There are many tools you use that I do too
and they are just as many ways to revel in mystery company;
you can have yours but this is mine

My mind wants to read yours
My skin fancies your needle in me

And as I vanished into your chair, watching you snap
your gloves on,

I have my gutted heart trying to talk
But my lips are not

'It's beautiful, its healing... beautifully,'
you said of two holes in my puncture chest

a lifeless metal thing
but not me

I may be half dead
but still living and breathing

You put the surface bar into a tiny Ziplock
like a secret between us now removed

'Souvenir,' you called it,
your smile rotting in the sourness of a voice

'Now why do you look so sad?' you asked

My piercing played in reverse,
but your questions were the same

I would have you screw
unscrew me,
put my skin in plastic

But I could never talk to you