floating and leaving no trace
the empty vessel
can sing, he said,
running his finger
along the rim
and causing the brass bowl
to hum
but how do you empty
your bones of your
emptiness, i asked
he struck me, then,
and rose, tucking his
silent bowl under his arm
he never returned
and i never heard his
empty vessel
sing again
latticework honeycombs
where bees make blood
instead of honey
all the same to vampires
(i’ve wanted to sink my teeth
into the soft skin of your neck
on more than one occasion)
marrow sitting deep
inside singing and humming
i can hear it while you sleep
calling my name
i curl around you
offering warmth in exchange
——
Words and Feathers 