after Kait Quinn
The girl, the husk powdery to touch,
frightened of fear and the secrets it keeps.
The awe in my eyes when I see you,
stitched in the elegant bow of willow trees.
Love and beauty, the kingdom of frost
melting into mid-july, the childhood of us.
The begging, words thick with dust,
smothered by questions and if you ever loved me at all.
Heaven’s gates and the spirit hands reaching
soft like fire, warm like bad choices in November.
My apologies, for being lonely, for knowing I’m lonely
and loving in spite of the way you bare your teeth.
Sadness, its inexorable kiss, molten chains
branding my breasts. Sadness, our tryst
with the darkness unspooling at dusk.
This – my palms – iron heavy with misplaced trust.