In Loving
The moment we promise ourself to another is revealed as a gilded braid
Golden with desire and twisted up
On The Wall I read such pure decisive proclamations about the ones you love
Straight lines and paper white
But what if my love doesn't feel so completely clean?
What if my love is muddy and thick
and rich and deep and of the earth?
I love you and yet I search for the nice crisp seams others sing from online personas and trashy magazines
Should I look more? I ask myself
As the road forks do I stay the path or veer off?
My heart aches to imagine other
The line we walk when letting others into the beating blood chambers within is fine
Fragile and sharp like glass
Small perfect slits are not the kind of precise lines I crave
For now I choose to sit in the muck, weighing my love and my discontent
Like interlocking tresses gathered between my fingers
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