She looks at him and wonders if
his long nose and fox eyes exist only for her.
Lovers made her laugh once.
She felt what it was like to touch the stars and share
secrets among frozen vegetables, dancing to
a song that was neither the singing nor the singer.
She thought she understood why the sun rose
in the east, why at a certain degree water forms crystals.
She thought she knew how to hold on and how to let go.
An ego death, a budding,
something so new it was like explaining
orange to a blind man.
His clean hands on the ridge of her spine,
trying to describe him with her fingers, silence exploding
in her, honey burning her tongue.
A bird can only see the world below her nest until
she discovers she has wings.
Most of my poems are about the men that have come into and out of my life - sorry not sorry?