If he would let me, I’d crack open his chest, part his ribs so I could climb in, chew his arteries up and rearrange them into a nest for myself. I would crawl under his skin, a warm blanket for me while I burrow into his muscles. I’d hide behind his molars, or the crevice of his eye. Every gentle touch he affords me tonight reminds me that I’m hungry. Starving for so much I will never have. I settle for scraps thrown to the floor, picking bones clean.
