A Marked Man

You gave me your love like the Black Spot,
marking me for death, for life,
slipping it into my hand
surreptitiously, irrevocably.

You gave me your tongue, too:
a living thing seeking my soul,
consuming my breath,
counting my teeth.

And you gave me your body, so like
an eel, or an anaconda,
squirming, wriggling, squeezing
my pulp into you.

Later, in bed, your feet
slid under mine—
warming? weighing?
testing the wishbone?