Fool

Handprints stain my heart.
They’re yours.

I am plagued; comatose,
a ritualistic rebirth
I claw my way out by morning.

Steady, inescapable, 
and raw, colorless thoughts
I wake, a hollow shell
a crescent.

Crumbs of my Eden remain
they linger as you linger
burlesque, a temptress
stepping softly.

I’ll not let the words crawl across my lips
I’d rather let them form brief, violent hailstorms
than risk it all again.

Wrists heavenward,
breathless, I submit.