I sharpen my knives
on teeth I grew myself.
Your words don’t sink deep enough
into my flesh anymore.
I have grown so accustomed
to my own blood drawings.
Tiny pinpricks
that build up into
black scars on
fingertips.
You,
O-Kagachi,
Serpent of
separating
and falsehoods.
The trails
or trials,
you lay,
of silver,
and gold,
I know
lead to an end.
Forgive me,
I have
again
sinned.
I joke
about taking the cloth.
But down there,
I know
I would cling so deeply to
the celestial image
I long for,
that I would lose
a part of myself,
as I took your
symbol
in hand.
Burn its shape into my eyes-
Loosen the restraints
I hold,
blood drawing,
in hand,
while I wait for you.