Thing

So at first
I thought it was the thing
That would blossom
And bring me to my feet
And coax a sigh from my mouth
"Oh",
I would say
As I pushed through your flesh
And discovered your bones
And the lights buried deep
Within your warm, pink tissues
And the curve of the questions
Within my head
Would slowly stretch
Into a fine, straight point
That left nothing to the imagination.

But instead the curves only curl and divide
And coil very tightly
And my worn and tired hands
Bruise deeply
Slice open
Trying to pull at the knots.
They pull away reluctantly
Left open, empty, bloody, purple.
I just wanted the thing
That I've never really had.