You should have stayed clean, cut the hands of those who touched you, lest they desecrate what's yours or prove how quickly they'd desert you. Leave each one in the wake of your grief. Have you learned? The lesson comes cold; it aches of past frost, in truths like stilled mercury. Your distrust is familiar but I'm on the rope now, leering from above as you learn that this guilt was the never love. Rocking at sea, you speak of warmth — how dare you?