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To T. O. Davis's previous piece

When you told me he fucked you all night
what was that supposed to do?
You glared at me with your 
Anne Sexton eyes-your fury
as I tried to hold on to you;
this puzzle of a man
you tried to fashion into something
breakable and arsenic bitter.

I let go of your grip
your harpy's talon in my shoulder
scraping the meat away,
scapula exposed, dry and yellow
is no longer your perch.

My healing factor is as useless
as the memories of watching "X-files" and 
adventures we had 
rumbling in my skull
spiking the fleshy matter-neurons scream for you
to leave me alone

my blood has issued enough and
the surgeons can't repair him anymore-
no more miracles or magic potions

I'll fade away now
just as you did from me.

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