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the intricacies of the veins on her chest intimate sea creatures
or blue lace, the colours and delicate line drawing
crawling across her collarbones, nipples, like dribbles of spattered watercolour

with her body arched open and back
the skin stretches into translucence and there they are,
the blue pathways, covering her with maniacally fragile hands

a grimace like a glass in pieces
a moan like a fisherman’s hook caught deep in an intestine
pulling, pulling

against her nature, her delicacies, her spider lashes, she begs
staring as he sighs, no, I don’t want to hurt you

the blue of her breasts, blue of her neck and he closes his hands
and then the black wipes her clean, so clean
a deep black, nearly purple like her lips

open mouthed she cannot even moan; she thinks:
stay with me, stay awake, move, keep moving
for god sake move your limbs around, make your hands some claws

for god sake move your limbs around
or he’ll think you’ve died
he’ll think you’ve died

the thought scares her and she hovers, quivering like a fish
slipping out but never beyond reach and tying off the nerves
one by one until they are sleeping, empty

peaceful and hungry