A Poem, you asked

An acceptance on the things you do for love

Without your touch, your words, your look,
I am nothing but a bag of skin,
A mash of bones and blood.
I do not see, I do not eat,
I merely wait…
A touch, a word, a look,
Is all I need to bring life bursting forth.
‘A Poem’ you asked
And so I obliged,
Tore myself to pieces and drew with tissues across the page.
Rolled myself into smaller balls until the juice ran out
And all that was left was black and bitter.
Fill me up or fuck me up, please
Please, before I waste away.