I have loved you like a penitent loves the knife—
kneeling,
certain that pain meant proof.

I let you stay buried in me,
let the red prove my reverence,
let hurt pass for holiness.

And I’m sorry—
I thought endurance was love.
I thought blood meant binding.

I am emptying out at your feet now.

A hollow vessel, offering the last of myself.
Still solemnly yours,
still soulbound—
but there is not enough blood left
in me to keep us both alive.