for nine years, you’ve starved me of words,
trading syllables for meaning like candy on
an elementary school playground. there are
thousands of entries now, scraped a to z and
in between from the alphabet until it bleeds.
but who cares, no big deal. you want more.
hours past midnight and the tea in your red
mug has gone cold again. lately, you’ve
converted to a religion of definitions but i
still hear you praying for truth in your sleep.
when we walk together, the sky feels more
like a region of atmosphere than the basin
your sister tried to bury herself in last fall.
when they found her crumpled like a lace
dress promise under the tree in your yard,
you wouldn’t watch the leaves dance for
weeks. it think it reminded you too much
of the way we play in the tears of clouds
every time it rains, when you should be
thinking of gravity (noun): the force that
attracts a body toward the center of the
earth. you see, that’s all it is to you now,
words paraded as equations and locked
between the pages of your very own bible.
but some nights, you are god only over
my hands. some nights, we extinguish the
candles and leave the words alone, watch
them dance like embers from a flaming tree.
when you ask me the meaning of love (noun),
i draw in a breath but let the words firefly on
above me. i do not regret letting them go.
i still do not regret you.