her soul was like water

a poem of text-ure

she had a voice like silk and
skin like sandpaper
a smile like sunlight melting snow
off your fingertips
and breath
warm like crushed velvet
on your lips

her tongue so sharp it could
slit you open
and make you bleed anew
but her laugh would heal you

she carried
a heart threadbare
worn out in so many places
stitched up
where it had been
torn apart all those times

so many times

but her soul was like water

one drink
and you understood

this was the
source of your life

and she made up
sixty five percent of you

and your veins
would dry up without her

and your tears would be nothing
but the salt
left on your wounds

and three days
without a drop

you die.