from Break

He thrust without guilt, going deep on the first lunge, severing, severe, within, underneath, reaching those little, fragile places I knew existed but was uncertain as to where until his first cut, deeper, hurting like healing would never come, irrevocably destroyed, I struggled to hold on to anything intact, shifting on hard surfaces, wooden drawers, metal knob, the length of his back while he goes deeper, piercing through, slicing me from below, before withdrawing—

suddenly a gap, an absence—

then back again, a plunge, a pain never quite complete, ebbing farther, fragments of me scattered inside, fragments I could never reclaim again once he is gone, once the rupture and rapture become hazy, cerebral, regressing as ideas, afterthoughts, along with the endless tastes of our bodies, clay, copper, earth, iron, musk, salt, smoke, along with knots, tangles, moans, aliases, repositions, throbs, shoves, friction, sweat, euphoria, along with my sudden death. There was heaven. I looked up, and the light exploded.