I placed an iron candle holder in each corner of the bedroom. They light the parts of me that look at you like I am predator and you are prey. A lost lamb who’s stumbled into a wolf’s den. Battered, bruised, used, devoured from the inside out. Watery thrashing in a tangle of limbs. Made to twist and turn and call out to the shadows. Listening to you want more. Then left to lie there, consumed. Dripping beads when I put out one candle; nursing pulled muscles when I snuff the next; curled and lonely as I blow out the third; all bones and heart when we sleep in the dark.