gray shades grey

so I amputate, with intent
it grows
back smoke, permeates to nothing faster.
a thought I test
before its vanquish

her skinny love seems so
fragile
I’ve become afraid to touch
it for fear of breaking constant,
pulling muscle, or—god forbid, rive
a tendon and cause permanent damage;
I’ve become afraid of resting living weight
on her limb.