The Spark

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The spark of your desire
cuts through me
like a diamond wheel
and hones the shape
of my tender heart
into one of joy.

I have grown used to
the way you carve me
out of incipient dreams
with the careful force of your body,
the way you split me
and smooth me over,
part me
and break me
again and again
until I cleave to you.

What will I be
when I am no longer
the raw material
of your need?

Formless,
shapeless,
drifting through
the starry void.