Amputate

I should amputate

the traitorous parts of me:

the arms that reach for you, the

fingers that want to trace

your jaw and cheek and

all your beautiful bones, the

heart that wants to beat in unison

with yours.

The tongue that seeks your shoulder, chest, your neck

and every inch of skin; the hips

that sway in your direction when

the eyes enrobe you

in a traitorous gaze.

I should amputate

the thighs that wrap yours cozily, the fragile cheek

that presses on your beard.

My lying mouth betrayed me

when I said I didn't need you, didn't love,

and since I cannot amputate

you from my treacherous heart,

my heart should be the first

to feel the blade.