It is perfect,

the way the light still shines,

the way the light still shines when it’s in the trash,

the way it does not know not to shine.

Which is like love,

which is like my love,

which is a femme fatale.

He smiled,

or she smiled,

opened wide,

and drank me in,

like I was eternal, because I am.

But I gave,

and kept giving,

and gave some more,

and intellectually this is wrong.

It is not the way of hearts.

The way of hearts that the Egyptians knew,

the way she knew the Egyptians knew about hearts,

yet she did not see the way she was gripping mine.

She did not want to say it,

he did not want to say it,

they did not want to crush me.


No is a word that is not vague.

No is consenting to not happening.

No should not be a puzzle,

should not be tricky.

Do not let me crawl in your arms,

do not let me split apart my heart

and hand you a piece if you are

going to open up and breathe your fire breath,

disintegrating my love.

You contain me,

the way you swallowed me,

my seed in the pit of your stomach,

it will not grow.

Lucky for me there is not much debris.

I will not have to clean.

Your movements mean everything in the moment,

and the lesson is the way the moment does not carry over

into the next moment or the next or the one after that.

Permanency is a human creation.

The lesson is that I cannot crawl inside you

enough that you decide to hold my heart.

The lesson is that I must not need you.

The lesson is, once more, that I must be whole.

The lesson is not to not give everything,

but to stand strong when the heart breaks.

I will be mine.

I will not stop telling my truth,

bursting with affection.

Somebody will be ready to scoop me up.



The lesson is not to act like it is not already here.

It is not possible to be truly alone.

I cannot hide in you, except in the deep reveries.

I knew it. I did not want to admit it.

When will I learn?


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