"Don't go,"
you said,
"We can break bread beneath the skylight."
Your body, your kinship; never your heart,

I take your soul- know the feel: its rich texture,
You call him by the first letter of his first name
And throw me adjectives-
Pretty and meaningless.

You shepherd me to your gate and riddle me with "sorry" like bullet-holes I cry from,
Meanwhile you make me laugh and
steal the words from my mouth like kissing thorns,

All those metaphors I sent to you and things that made me feel so loved rest in jars:
Aborted, mutated,
Wasted feelings I'll study from henceforth till the next ape.


Post a Comment