Pull of the breath
Drop of the sea.
A pine cone from the forest.
That instant when hate
is released and turned into love
is an opening of my chest.
Rocket surgery. Heart hacking
bloodied by past love betrayed
and denied by the swans who watched
and the crows who warned.
It was cold, but now it matters no more.
Warmth? is only felt after the fact.
No comments:
Post a Comment