I wonder who is true
If I can feel her pull inside
How do you disbelieve her
When she has pulsed through me
But can I find the mystery of what has made her move
through the little tube
that I will never see
And could I build a muscle
That would squeeze her into rhythm
to our favorite song
Where would I even begin
to find all of our pieces
She keeps me
Asking
Does the blood lie?
She keeps me breathing and thinking and tingling
The rushes and brushes with death
And I’m still alive.
Isn’t that worth something.
Red goddess within
In my bathroom mirror image
Just on my inside
Her face I imagine
Is mine
I can feel her fingers, her warmth
Always holding, sliding and stroking
Hiding, under, my secrets, my skin
Is she good. Is she hungry. Is she evil. Do I care.
She is mine. I am hers.
But it’s hard when we fight
When she itches
When I’m sleeping
When she whispers
When I’m reading
I must ask the others.
Does the blood lie?
Dead said yes, and some say no
So I ask her
But she won’t answer. I don’t think she can
Answer.
That one.
Because that’s not her beauty
No reason for the season
No quote of the day.
And how can I disbelieve, anyway
the her that is me
So, of course she won’t answer
Our self-preservation
For someone I can’t just replace
Transfusion of soul and oxygenated cells
For someone I can’t live without
Empty bones and withered veins
For someone who’s bound to the underneath
Rotted remarkable
Spectacular decay
She knows. She is.
I know. I am.
We all know. The blood can’t lie.
At least she keeps me asking
Who am I?