loving is easy with fingers this long.
with arms pressed back on a bed of hevver
tied in knots until the days end.
i miss the feeling of your deepest places.
i miss the connections that we make.
the whining rush.
i'm going to end you now, gently,
crushing your hand with mine
because i like you.
and how you dropped out of the sky,
soft and fractured
in need of deep mending
with extended fingers
and arched spines.
almost like destiny called upon us
and told us to keep it quiet.
i miss the feeling of your breath,
the way your fingers dance only for me.
YOU ARE READING
weeds.
Poetrysometimes you need to return to the soil to feel the triumph of what once grew.
