Hammer

My senses are numb.
I couldn’t hear you
over the pounding,
the hammer
flattening out my stomach
like a muscle of metal
being converted to a sheet.

All of my nerves
have been detached
from my body
and strung to a harpsichord
that you play upon.
You are so feverish now.
Your fingers are working overtime

and I can’t hear you any more.
I cannot see the gold flecks
in your eyes.
I no longer feel the lava spurting
from you and bathing me 
in the warmth that I once
fed on ravenously.

I am laid bare on the anvil 
and don’t feel anything 
but a persistent pounding 
invading my body. 
My face is nothing but cold steel
again, needing little more
than to be led by you to the furnace.

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