Fickle.

You have not visited

in a while,

flippant, forgetful

fleeting.

I revisit

words

you drew from my mind

warm and flesh-wet, burning

your fingerprints

are on

them all.

At your altar

I kneel, knees

pressed to the stone

silent, unmoving.

Wake up!

I cry, beating fists

useless and weak

upon your likeness,

marble effigy, erected

by my own hands

in a fit of fervor.

Come back to me

I need you

thoughts plague me, and

only you

can free them, key

to my cage

in your transparent palm.