My past is the flames that ignite on the love we share. So scorched you scorn me.
To make reparations for a crime in a biased jury. My past creeps up in the crevice of distance. When our hands unlock, when our words are no longer tender, when out hearts are longing ever so slightly. My past standing in awe as if it were me & not the shell of once was. You, leaping with it out of orbit. Past the point of understanding, past the point of safely landing. The past is just that the past. No more no less. & a heart is a heart no more no less. Emotions adding intent to accidents & lies padding for the blow