You pulsate through even the question of what to have for dinner.
You are trapped deep in my nerve, you have spread under the surface of my skin like a bruise. You are the slick sliding down my neural pathways. The snap and lock and spark that causes the lights to blow when I flick a switch. You are the click of my land mines before they explode. The flavour I taste when my mouth is empty. You are the moment before I come, all taut and jangled nerve, more acute and curious than the consummation. You are my own teeth on lip, the ache of my breast. You are the inexplicable detachment of mind to body, so that my head is there when I am here. You are the memory of muscle, the quickening of my blood. You are the juice that flows through me and makes me wet when I have not even noticed the weather.
You who loses no sleep over me, who turns to another and makes your bed every morning (and the nights I cannot bear to think of).
You, who cannot know how far and completely I have fallen.