There used to be three syllables in my first name.
When I noticed the last was missing,
the fingers of your left hand
had entwined themselves in my curls,
while the fingers of your right hand
had prodded the back of my throat for it
before I could tell you no
I swallow blood and black ink now–
You can find the missing parts of me
in your nail beds,
between the creases of your sheets
scattered across the pages in the wind
fluttering, slightly crinkled,
what used to be my name smudged on it
in your handwriting
You are still thinking of me,
but no need to be cautious anymore
Say my name, the part you stole, say it loudly
Do you taste the ink?
Has it stained your teeth yet?
When the last three letters of my name
begin to rot on your tongue,
I will finally say your first name
without blood dripping from my mouth