Where I lean
A mark is made
In the soft parts
A purple in-
You pour salt
On every thing
Knees are bending
Beneath the weight
Of you
And the things you've killed
Heavy in so many arms
Armies of witnesses
To the words 
You've poured it out
Soft and
All over the places where
You've marked with your boot's print
The hand,
The heart,
The throat