Tuesday, December 31, 2024

Chapter 16: In Writing

 Browned leaves litter the pavement

like clawed hands 

or scattered flames.

 

I love you, my toddler tells me,

digging into my cheeks.

Do you love me?

 

I bury

my nose in his wispy hair.

He grabs my wrist,

 

moves it up and down

his cheek. When I draw away

he pinches me.

 

How do we love each other,

let us count the ways

and how much,

 

and how little

and who more.

How long will you lie to me?

 

A reddened vine encircles

the lemon tree, a leaf cluster

rising to ring the finger

 

when I have you

heart sliced open

prostate on my knees

 

what do we do

with the openings,

what lies in wait inside?

 

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