Sometimes I wander,
burn life in my veins,
pour agony into skin,
intentionally price
myself undesirable.

Most are oblivious
to the empty in bones,
or the passion in dreams;
time is as dry to their lust
as whispered secrets are
to eavesdropping agony.

Someday, someone,
they will feel beyond
the importance of a kiss,
or distance of a scent;
delicate and cruel,
testing and the both
of us tenderly sacred.