More from scratch
You lost me again,
after so many times before,
and I live within your line of sight now
but I am deader than the last shedding of your skin.
I do not want to forget your face,
your missing face...
because I might have digested it.
In the expanse of your eyes,
finally, I feel it again:
and my veins begin to itch.
I scratch at them idly,
waiting for your voice to trickle down into puddles
so that I can look
for the last incision.
And I couldn't find it this time,
so I made it from scratch for you.