My mouth waters 

at the thought of you.

Wet lungs, swollen tongue;

dry drowning in love.

I choke politely;

napkin to the corners 

of my mouth

while hypoxia settles in. 

Devotion has always 

bruised me blue;

this time I realise 

I'm covering you too. 

Half-moon, hanging gentle. 

Only rising to mock me.

Pulling my hair

while I try to sleep.

The night leans heavy.

Stars split the sky;

pale wounds pulse memory;

dark reminders of our distance. 

I dig nails through my chest

to prove you’re in there;

someone I can't exhume.

The only way you’ll let me have you. 

My tongue iron bars

keeping you here,

pressed against my teeth.

Wishbone I will not let go. 

Every hollow under my skin

bears your shape.

I could spend my life

carving spaces to let you in.

Blythe Baird, from If My Body Could Speak; “Eat”