I taste like soot,
charcoal drawings and acrylic paints,
shoving your red raw fist into your mouth,
choking on blood and snapping your fingerbones with your teeth,
broken.
•
my soul is too large for here,
and my heart is too big for your hands.
I say I am sorry,
for loving too much,
for forgetting your laundry in the washing machine because I was crying in the bath,
for the things I can’t be for you.
•
I am meat,
carcass and skin,
but I want to be moonlight,
floating pollen in the wind,
the sparkle of city lights when you took me up to that mountain, where I mourned my youth and my naïveté,
the sand between your fingertips when we dance against the lapping of the waves against the burning sun.
•
why can’t I love less?
•
I know that I scald. I am far too much.
•
when can I learn to love less?
•
06/12/19
