saplings
turned kindling
turned ash
all under the winter and fire
of my hands and my mouth
so fearful
of ghosts that
still draw blood
of wounds that
never healed the same
of things broken and left
broken
a self-preserving instinct

i was too in love
to be manipulated
i gave him more
than his years
knew how to hold
and the remainders
came spilling out
like floodwater
brown and thick
as eyes and november breath
it swam through his lungs
his shining, hopeful breath
a new conquest
to the absence
presence inevitably brings