They dared call it love, a once shared hunger, so I loosened my ribs and let the room smell like iron, they learned my pulse by heart, tearing between beats so I would last, they say care is patient when it plans to devour the end i became fluent in offering, confusing being picked clean with being chosen, I wondered what is intimacy if not letting someone know exactly where you bleed?. I'm not hollow, I'm only what remains after devotion finishes feasting. L. Siré