With crystalline precision she can pick me apart –
Slowly, sharply, gently still –
Piece by piece by puzzle piece
‘Till slots once empty fill with her
And her mystic domain
Of glass and laden thunderstorms.
When she hurts, it is a cooled pain
dulled only in body,
Rampant in mind –
Scratching, biting, closing in –
Where logic, once such solid metal,
Dissolves like sand and fallen snow.
With beating wings and laughter far too loud for her own good –
Shoving, shouting, lingering near –
Day by day by endless day
‘Till thoughts too full shall flow towards her
And her eternal kingdom
Of wood and dancing riverbeds.
When she hurts, it burns her through,
Charred from sleeve to bones to empty chest;
Amber turns to hardened coal –
Choking, numbing, reaching out –
Where feeling, once such tender warmth,
Scars the flesh of foe and friend alike.