You must have planted a seed
deep inside my stomach.
wedged it right into the lining of my tissues while i slept,
where even the acid couldn’t get to it.
I dont know whether it feeds off of the longing
that you spoon into my open mouth
every time you fail to muster
or a word for me
or whether it simply grows with the addition of long moments
where you continue to not love me.
In any case,
it has lodged itself there,
in the pit of my belly,
taken up residence
and calls itself an organ now.
I feel it, heavy like a wet, breathing stone,
every time I think of you,
every time you don’t think of me.
And all I want is to throw it up.
to feel it loosen and rip from its intestinal nest.
to look at it lying in the dirt in front of me,
a peach pit abortion of
testifying to its presence inside of me.
testifying to the end of you inside of me.