You’re cold, like a butcher’s shop window. Don’t ask me why we’re so volatile. The reaction has begun. You catalyse. I go off.
I used to stare longingly into the space between us, but now there is none. I used to open all of my vents and let your breath ripple through me, but now I’m shuttered and latched.
You’re a piece of work. The working piece divided in fragments. Ticking like a watch… a time-bomb.
I’m the comb. You’re the queen… bees… honey… hornets. Scratch out a turf war. My skin rises and ripples. Rub yourselves together to keep me warm.
I keep myself hollow, like a cave lapped in slick shadow. The lantern burns at your table while you’re gone.