What waters

I am holding a sword in my hand
it cuts into the thick-
Dark, your eyes
dark, the modest fur of bats
dark, the swollen tongue
My veins are floods
my fingers are forearms
Soft black leaves cover us
we, clumps of threaded light

Twin,
you twist these fingers limp
you lick these veins dry
you cut the sword with your hair
and shape me into a pause
a moment of air

Dark twin, your eyes like plums
if I peel them back
what tears do you hold?
what waters are these
clear, honeyed and cold?

You grow small
like a falling stone
and I cannot keep you
my chest is not a cage
my hand is not a fist
my eyes cast no nets

The silence chews
with small deliberate bites
you’ve left me with no defense
and she is hungry