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