why i bite

it isn't hunger.

i clamp down, sink

into muscle, 

rubber band tendons 

pop pop pop,

give way to bone, 

to vein, to nerves. blood

never unsettled me. 

to submerge

in that heat, i bite 

so i can be warm again. 

 

it isn’t hunger, it’s survival.

my teeth, your hands, my canine instinct. 

bad dog, bad girl, bad

case of lockjaw. 

no key, just the taste

of its metal. 

like a sentient

tourniquet; i hold us

together with nothing

but my mouth. 

 

it is not hunger, instead:

the grip i have to get, the parts 

of you i’ve yet to taste. it's love. 

it’s only love. 

it’s only hunger, 

just love and warmth and love or

hunger or flesh, it’s not hunger but it’s

love, hunger--

just a little bit of blood

and me, 

with the scars i’ll leave.