Saints in Grey

I can recall the smell of you
and the taste
like a phantom limb
and there is shrapnel, there are missiles
swimming through my cavities
and yours - are you full?

I've been living in a vacuum
digesting and breathing in
every
thing
until there is
no
thing
swimming the what
for a semblance of your lack,
for air that has not moved in you.

Words are no
thing but scattered puzzle
letters that your mouth has
uttered and
thoughts are yours the
scarlet threads that bind
my wrists my feet my lungs.