Is it with
the strength
of my own two hands
that I crush
the bountiful
flowering petals
waiting
in the outstretched palms
of the women
who I love?
Does my towering
ambition
silently decay
their humanity—
their desire to reach
for anything beyond
my hips?
Tell me—
is there a way
to unclench
my fists
from around your lungs?
A way for my riotous
echo to be silenced?
Even if a cure
existed
for this malady
I’m not sure
that I would ever
stick around to see it.