Preoccupied

What happens when I'm not preoccupied
with my own hands
on you
on your spine and hips
on your hair and ears and lips
What happens when I simply love you
with you or not
caring or not
if you kiss me good morning or good night.
I hardly know them from one another.
Preoccupied with my hands sliding down this pen
till they are gripping the inky triangle
and soaking dark dye
that will not wash off.
And you'll know what I've been doing
That I can't eat with such fingers
And I cannot touch you
until I've bled the rest of this pen
until I can't feel my own blood
warm or cold
I'll love you without feeling
that is love deeper running than this illness
I'm so proud of. So devoted to.

nov 3, 08