I carry your name
tattooed under my skin.
It has branded me
slave that I am
to the migration of your love.

I am a registered trademark
to hysteria
They say
They cannot see my wounds,
the exits of love
that weep for you.
Their beliefs are rooted
to this earth,
cannot know the miracle
of wax or tongues.
or the harrowing of my flesh
when you stick to every particle
of thought.
Madness, They call
my shrieks,
my birthpangs to rid you
from the columns of my bones.
Invisible stigmata,
They say
the pain is all-in-my-head,
but I feel you here, and here, and here
in each remembered death
of touch, of look,
like a bruise spreading,
like spilled wine.

This heart is porous
and cannot hold
the ecstasy of you.