I keep writing love poems. There is a point
where enough is enough and you’ll know
that you hold my heart in your fist like a
flower. Even the earth needs a grander body
to orbit. I know that my wings are only eleven
years from melting, that my vision is losing
its letters from looking too closely at the arc
of you, again and again. Glances from the corner
of the eye no longer suspend belief.
When the sun rises over the fence, all
the flowers turn their faces, show their
best sides. I must see you in full before I fail.
Look, in the sky, all those people are dying.
I put the blooming rose in your hand,
the fallen orange, the unripe fig.
Image of the Ace of Disks, taken from this site’s Tarot Card of the Day.
Words written while housesitting to the sound of beautiful music.
Time Taken six minutes.
Brain on travel, coffee, sweet joy, hearts aflutter.