he choses all of the soft ones for me,
because he knows I can't handle
anything thicker than the
consistency of pudding. Repeats short
sentences 1, 2, 3 times over and
slows his words down to the pegs
of my breath. He won't go faster
than I can handle.

I understand.
I am an island.
You come to me
to escape.

Above his head a golden halo
fleshed around his tight curls

A moon. One singular, lone moon
          -danced.

Maybe I'm learning but not accepting that the skies
don't have all of the answers, much like the ground
won't always be there to support my limbs

i don't have a heart for you to break

my heart bleeds muddy water.