When the month comes
like coats and handshakes
your heart will bend gracefully
to mine.
Careful, I will break you.
I – who have never missed
mishandled, mistreated, mistook
you for anything but a dream
will have you like a savage
axe swung like a body bleeding
open for a touch
or a grasp
or a need.
Careful, I remind you,
I will break you. Open
like a palm, or a thought,
a teacup in a storm
always smashing.
Careful, I repeat,
I will break you. Apart
like two dreams
swirling in the ether,
watching as the stars
milk hours of tonguing –
jealous as a fireball
kindling in your throat,
yes, I will burn you
alive to be with me.
Careful, I will break
you along the thighs
as missed promises and
late-night ideals. Always
a beggar, always so fragile,
in the night my hands will
become softer than butterflies
and angrier than oceans
lapping at your body for
air and respite.
You will give it to me.
We will forge it together.
On the plane ride, bus ride,
car drive, long hike, your
hands will crave me and
remember the touch, firm,
tell me about it then
because I will already
be guiding your wrist.
I do not want to see you cry.
I want to take you like an orchid,
upright and blooming. A piece of the
Earth, living. A constellation of the
stars, beaming.
Careful, I will break you.
I will leave the pieces scattered
across the floor and, only if
your heartbeat remains
like a whisper, will I
re-build you.
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