Pinkie

I love you. Your forehead; my lips. Your rings; my giving. Your lifeless body; my ring. My ring; your body leaving. My longing; your pinkie finger. My decision; topaz side by side. I love you.

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Narrative on a Wound

The wound, the wound. You know that bearded man, the one who died?  The one who died angry, who wrapped himself around me and I led him out?  Well it’s been a year now and I’ve been angry (again).  He never said good bye.

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(no) superhero

Grief and joy are opposites.  Except that grieve is the preferable word because it is not static.  And if you let it live all of its lives, joy is a word that whispers constantly. And softly.

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Onwards

And then the cyclists
raise me upward.
Consume my eye.
They are waterproof
neck to ankle.
Onwards they pedal.
Onwards their eyes
say to me.

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