gutted

sticky stalagmites picked like fish bones
tissue pulled, blood drained,
discarded.

rounded membranes scraped,
wiped down and
tucked back in

your eyes in pictures
pluck heart and intestine,
i spin, m., first into you
the elastic length of guts roping around my waist
tight on each side like hands

then spinning away,
unravelling
guts on the floor, heart hanging by a sticky clot
you retract into the wall
sucking my innards to a place i cannot see

oh m.,
you will discard it, this i know,
but if, on the way to the bottom of the pail,
it grazes your skin

i will gladly go empty
i will gladly live
without.