One Cold.

I am one 
cold emotionless sum 
of an itch you could 
scratch all night 
and awake with blood- 
streaked sheets, without even 
touching my depths.

Like your childhood
dream, I can sink deeper yet. 
Subcutaneous, down epidermal 
and in, I command "dive, dive"
as I break your skin 
from the other side.
Into muscle and meat,
as your organs grind wide
to be rid of me. I descend

to bone. 

At the marrow of you, 
I have sunk my stake 
into something true, 
but as dead phantom false 
as I am,

you need

just to dig
and to rake
by hand, away
endlessly full fathom 
straight up, from the surface 
of you. I can feel you saw,
and picture the rough jagged
widening cut. I can sit in your

bones,
safe 

and lap it all up. Vibrate
to your strum. Verse 1, 
verse 2, and a chorus 
refrain from the heart 

of you.

I go quiet. Go numb. 

You scream with relief!
But the itch

is not gone, only bored

to sleep.