Your fingertips wandered
The forests of my skin,
for a year, three months and one week.
Your kisses lingered around my neck,
Pearls strung delicately across a haphazard creation.
Your thumbprints were inked across my ribcage,
Polka dots on my least favorite sweater.
Your fingers mined gems from the ridges of my hipbones,
Diamonds found within the depths of my self-loathing.
Your lips planted daisies the crooks of my collarbones,
Black-holes of misery turned into a rainbow of gardens.
I have not felt your embrace
Or heard your voice,
In a year, eleven months, a week and four days.
The pearls have been replaced
With the noose of your bitterness.
Your thumbprints have become plum-colored bruises,
Diamonds have turned to coal,
And, like a fool,
I mistook daisies for venus fly traps-
They catch every thought of you,
And I'm now I'm closed in.