Starve

you fed me in crumbs
a hand brushed at the threshold
a text that flickered then disappeared
an hour where you let me believe
I was full

I built banquets out of scraps
gnawed air where your body should be
counted the seconds of silence
as if hunger were devotion

I kept my throat open for your absence
thinking if I swallowed it whole
you might see my empty body
and finally pour yourself in

but love is not famine
and I am not a saint of starvation

I saw your withholding hand for what it was
a knife pressed gently, constantly
until I mistook the bleeding
for touch

so I cut you off at the wrist
not out of cruelty
but mercy

and in the quiet after
I ate the first real meal
my own breath
steady and warm
a feast that did not vanish
when I reached for it

I do not need you to sustain me
but to dream
reaching for the warm spot where I once lay
finding it cold
feeling a hunger creep in
and realizing

I was the only satiation