Sometimes

I imagine holding mine
in my hands, beating organ-
fleshy and fumbling and trembling
between my thumbs and fidgeting fingers

bringing it to my mouth-

my lips- their caress, my tongue- its tease.

Sometimes
I imagine holding mine
in my hands and bringing it in
close enough to bite.

If I ate it,
would it slip right back inside,
into place, perhaps a better place

than where it’s been before.

Sometimes
I imagine holding mine
in my hands, like you did
and wondering if I could bring myself
to tear it apart

with my teeth.

All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly