Feb 2020
You were sweet, yes. I won’t be the poet who compares you to honey for it, but yes. You were honey.
But not for your sweetness; honey–
Not in spite of your acid, but because of it.
You are the gods painted
in our imperfect, mortal image.
In your mortality, in your burning
In your acidic, golden eye.
Honey.
-
But not for your sweetness; honey–
Not in spite of your acid, but because of it.
You are the gods painted
in our imperfect, mortal image.
In your mortality, in your burning
In your acidic, golden eye.
Honey.
-
I wish I knew how to say it.
I wish I knew how to tell her any of it.
I wish I never would have opened my mouth, and called her perfect.
I didn't think that.
I knew she was imperfect. And I wanted to know her for it.
I wish I knew how to tell her any of it.
I wish I never would have opened my mouth, and called her perfect.
I didn't think that.
I knew she was imperfect. And I wanted to know her for it.
