ghostofagypsy

Her hands have taken the shape of spoons.
Their silver gleam clinks when pressed to mirrored glass.
She wants to know of a hunger
that moves beyond her belly when it groans unsated.

Her mind has become a heart-shaped time bomb
it pumps a tick-tock of warning.
Rest comes in a restless state of half-readiness
to fall prey to hopeless explosions.

To want and to wait-
these have become the anthems that fill her mouth
but never the emptiness.