there are earthquakes inside the knuckles that held my hand, and writhing rivers in the light blue strands that dip into your shoulder blades
i am not afraid to say that i am afraid which may seem like an oxymoron, but i promise you it is not
i broke glass over your head and cried into the shards, only because i was trying to make you see how beautiful it is, how the glittering light loves broken things
you always snipped the tags off of tea bags and when i asked why you said you were saving for something that you couldn't remember but ******* it is important