Over biceps and thighs

I stumbled into a landscape of you

thicker than anticipated.

I thought it held me, but I was wrong.

I thought it could sustain me,

but you pushed me in.

The bones of your muses found my ankle

there in the mud.

Panic—the onset of fingers surrounding flesh—

reverberated in my lungs

a force unknown to me.

Pushed me into your sky,

forcing the sun to recede

until I could see it for what it was:

the mouth of a black hole.

How I mistook that force

for the safety and protection of a keeper.

It held me,

but only the way a constrictor holds its prey.

Come to me.
Come to me now that I know what you are.
Come to me now that I see what you are.
Come to me.