but have grown comfy in my wanting,
the difference of a clenched jaw and a
warm bath, i will enjoy this water as i wait for you.
there is a colour of love within me, bigger than poetry,
a room i have lived in before but has stood
empty, watching my years spent unpacking
the bags i once carried.
what did the stretching quiet of lockdown teach us?
it is dangerous, spending too long
inside yourself, sitting longer with the idea
of people than with people themselves
you will simmer in hyperboles
too big for any one body to hold
like love is grand and without taproots,
like curation equates togetherness.
in truth, there is a limit to what you learn of
yourself in your own company, holding up both tin cans.
it’s what you pour into others–
the partners, the chosen family, the kin that stays,
this is how you come to see the
half life of your own atoms
under the light of others, in the communal space
between your chests, your shared meals,
your 3am calls just to sit and breathe.
in all honesty, i do not know where you are
but i don’t need to. we do not need to be the same creature
nor have a field of sameness to pull our flowers from
i tear out my old journal pages
and burn them with the bluebells
it’s not an auspicious day, and this not a
love spell. but i want the forces that push
and pull to help me build my next love
on the shoulders of my old ones,
i want to fuck up in better ways, have
greater reasons to breathe through the pain
CarnivalDark 