When you put your hand inside me I want you to tear me out and I know you will ask how much but the answer is all of me everything leave me empty and wanting and thinking of you by the time you take the last subway home for the next forever how long to just yearn and cry and touch myself never quite the way you are touching me now never how you are touching me now never where you are touching me now up to your wrist fucking the empty space which I imagine is the core of who I am the centre of my being the thing that is me in a way that is untouchable nonsovereign real or whatever bullshit term I have found now which never gets close to describing the way you fill me up or the way I flow over onto the sheets or the headboard of the bed creaking as my knuckles whiten tightening around the railings as I bear with the unbearable because I know you are going to leave once you find whatever you need in me and then that will be it and there is no fantasy to see me through this moment to connect it to the next to let me believe that maybe at another bar night you will hit on me again and come home with me again and it will be just like this time because there is only one first kiss with someone and there is only one first time for this and all the bits of me that you are tearing out turning to pulp even if they are rearranged just the way they were before they will carry the memory of you your fingers your whole fucking fist.