Category: Poetry

We are always told to let go./
As if loss were sand to throw/
for the wind to take away./

I want to tell you/
that the end of love/
is not a war with victors/
although there might be sides./

A piece of meat tells the story/
of inlets and archipelagos,/
where a couple of fins/
have propelled shiny scaled skin/
from the secrets of the depths/
into your mouth.

You disappeared one day./
You took your brilliant words/
and perfectly timed guitar taps/
and the ends of my sentences away./

Of course I’ve severed./
And more quickly, I’ve burned,/
finding the gaps more easily filled/
than its connections appeased/
or learned./

Stop sanitizing your love, dulling its razor edges and insteadpresenting a safe sphere of promises you can’t keep. Don’t bore mewith talk of the universe