Someone long ago
whispered life into this stone –
rubbed their fingers in the hollow of your throat,
sculpted the roll of your shoulders,
pressed their thumbs beneath your miniature brow
and set you in circles –
twelve stones for twelve hours,
and every hour a moment wasted
waiting for midnight to gleam through your arches.

And you swear to God your marble patterns mean something fierce,
but I think you’re just hiding from me,
like when you lift the corners of your mouth
and it’s clear it’s only to please me
because your smile is rough and dull
like you carved it there yourself to keep the questions away.

And now distrust is second nature (for the both of us)
and you’ve turned your back on the sun
to thrust your hands against the glass
in hopes of leaving some fingerprints –

These stone-cast pupils stare right through me
and all I can do is scratch this flint and steel against your cheek
and pray you’ll catch a spark.