hold, continued

So never mind the helixes we braided in July,
the shades of the Euphrates we created or the five
concentric circles that he traced inside my thighs
Forget the triple valenced song he sparked to charge my spine
and the fusillade of fingertips cascading down the vines
that spiral brown around my cheeks to veil me from the lie.
They pale in the brilliance of my sun, so dim the sky.

—
Hey. Perhaps my gravest error is my willingness to trust. I want so badly to believe we humans learn to love.

—
And I know I’m still two poems behind. I’m trying to catch up.

—
And I realize that I may be mistaking. Someone asked me once “Will you be open like a flower, or a wound?” And I so enamored with my swift unravelling failed to understand the difference is semantics. In order for a vessel to float, it must be airtight. Permeability may be the flaw. Fatal.