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We swallowed our tongues,
fleshy caskets for our feelings
buried in the cemetery
of our guts

Do you feel
turning in your stomach?

What we left unspoken
is rolling in its grave.

My love,
when it comes back to life as
rotting corpses without spirit
it will eat us alive
from the inside out.
How do two butterflies find each other
between the earth and the great sky
when there is so much space
and so much wild brush and wind
and so few of them, tiptoeing
from flower petal to petal?

I hear they dance
when they meet
their colours blending in pirouettes
and a hundred-stepped tango.
What a dazzling courtship it must be,
what a blessing to witness.

But I still cannot fathom how
in this enormity
do butterflies find each other.
all I had to say
it’s been a while
and twist

because I'd heard your yowl
the night before
(and cried at the sound)
something that wasn’t meant
for me
but which you let loose
for all the world to hear

in hopes
it would be heard
by one
Today you were waiting for Serendipity
out on the corner of some street
which shall remain nameless hereon
because it doesn’t matter.
that’s not the point.

the point is, you waited there
all day.

the point is
at dusk you called me
to ask
if I’d roll by
to make it happen.


I am not Serendipity
that woman you so longed for,
with breezy golden hair
and charmed green eyes and
her arms dangling gracefully
with no thought given
and no ***** wasted.

I am not Serendipity
with her good fortune
and sunny days.

I am not Serendipity.

I am a planned vacation
with a hiking backpack
full of good intentions
and good will
and good humour

and when it rains
(and it will rain)
let’s go out and dance
and call this our fortune.
I have left the Earth,
no longer entranced by the contours
of his maps.

He thought he alone needed to be Atlas

so that when he trembled
the world shook,
and when he trembled
oceans swallowed coastal villages,
and when he trembled
mountains buried lone wanderers,
and how he trembled
that the very core of the earth
did erupt in molten rage.

“Baby,” I said, “you need to downsize."
honey warms in my palms
his is still the name that comes to my lips
sneaks into your bed at night
gives you the shake down
for stories
then slips quietly
into the cover of darkness

you wake
without dreams
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