letters in letters you left, loose embers frolicking in an innocuous upward twirl to: you, a glassblower on that flirtatious gallivant, breathing shapeless sand into golden honey. fun, fun and games. you roll me over like a dice
and then i am at once spellbound, whisked into a game i had always watched behind shoulders but never joined. mostly modest breaths shorten, breaths soften, till you inflate me like a proud mother’s chest.
for every reason i can find to hate you i have two more to love you instead; for every thankless task i droop foolishly like a homesick adult, one too tired to find the itch in my spirit, the psychosis that bursts like
an outpour of flames to bake my lips into a stretched smile. annealed, inside me every second of silence burns my walls into a crisp. shoved into an inferno, fished out as a pretty vase, a goblet, a chalice… crystallized into
picture-perfect perfection. the treasures of Murano.
of the sweltering Italian sunshine. of strange nights spent aching for more letters awash with love from: you, to: me of protests, shattered selves in the kiln, haunting still potsherds of a heart that saw it coming.
I am wandering, haphazardly at best,
head full of helium and heartbeats running wild
to a hallucinatory rhythm.
History stares sternly at me,
its piercing gaze raising the hairs on
the back of my neck. I’ve
been here. The soles of my shoes
fit perfectly into the craters of footprints
left behind in the dirt.
Perhaps I’ve just walked
the entire planet to escape you,
only to return to where I had begun
at the end of my cyclical sojourn.
I wish I could tuck you away
into a password,
or a receipt crushed at the bottom of my purse.
But you are my white whale,
an oasis in a desert. Like a drowning fish,
you make me pull my own puppet strings,
even when I’d sworn to cut them short.
I’m drawn to you, hideously and fatuously,
like a wasp is to a beacon.
And on some days, some better ones, the clouds seem to
morph into the contours of your face,
and I laugh from the earth below
at how even the skies
have a little sense of humour.