88.

Break me open and pull the sinew from beneath
my skin. Have at me – crack my ivory ribs
and reform them into growth and change.
The sound in your ears is my blood
slowing from my veins to yours, creating canyons
in our bones that smell like salt and rose water.
Bring something bright and pulsing
into my beating heart; plant a creeping vine
inside my feet and let it wind into my hair.
I want to be torn apart and rebuilt
in your image.