Worn Sonnet

Consider yourself on the tip of my tongue
Daring to be told and toxic to taste
To swallow the words and account as waste
Would injure my mouth until it grew numb
Notice me residing under your thumb
Violently push and crush me into paste
Scrape the remains to colour me effaced
Thriving under fingernails among scum

I mill with edges to form an indent
And fashion your flesh so I can sprawl
Dismiss me when your pressed palms repent
In spite of deep seeping cuts that I crawl
Richly I’ll recall this as time well spent
To be caressing your bare skin at all