Hollow,
and hollow, and
hollow, hollow
words
that have holes
bored into them
by tongues that have said them
carelessly
too long,
too often.
Drilled into me
like cylinder bullets
(middle-less)
that sit in the flesh
not piercing through
without substance to push them.
Full,
and fuller, and
heavy, heavy
your hand
that has weight
resting on my head
with fingertips that terrace
my temples all alight
with warmth
that melts metal, fills wounds.
And I am healed of emptiness with a whisper,
“I’ve caught you.”
