For the shards underneath my kitchen stove.
i run my fingers through moments thawed
clawing, catching, grasping—
drip, drip, dripping mercury gold
a rupture veiled with wisdom sought
like a Band-Aid on my pinky toe,
a mere stain ‘cross the tablecloth
when every gasp ***** holes anew
deep in bosoms pulsing violet blues
For the wrinkles i failed smoothing through.
paracosmic ashes from bridges burnt
decaying below my point of view, overdue
adieus stashed ‘tween your books and
pertinacious passion seeping through
my pillowcase i tucked in place
souvenirs of potential
framed laced pinkies sitting down
with my strewed syllables marooned and brown
a lynx vanishing with clementine eyes
Until the chalice of chrysalis manifests.
come ‘morrow is an acquainted rue
when all but my love subdued
February 2021. Why is this still accurate?