his hands have folded my heart into his palm
warm like dough, pressing
into me with each word, each
kiss is new and strange and tense and
comforting all at once, soft and dizzying
oozing through layers of brick and mortar
that I laid so surely around myself, painstakingly
as if any wall could keep honey
from pouring over its edges
the bluntness of his words
sear through me without warning
lashes of kindness that leave me ashamed
of how I had cringed
as if I deserved anything else
and suddenly I'm afraid that
9 lifetimes wouldn't be enough
that the sun in the afternoon would feel like
a knife in my heart without his touch
when love has seeped into my blood
so hopelessly that his absence makes me itch
to cut myself open and rid my body
of the pulsing reminder
that I have always been
filled with too much water
deep and boiling, snapping and rushing at
whatever touches me for too long
but his voice rains over me until
I am finally still