it was not him

my heart cracks into a million blades of grass

it was not him.

i remember seven months ago
sitting
in a man’s kitchen
coming
to the sober realization
that longing will break me.

again i open the unending depths.

heart pulses beneath my breasts.
heaviness cradles their soft edges.
lips turn downward,
trembling
as tears i’ve resisted
stream through
the soft fold of my nose
and roll toward my tongue.

the sky holds impossible blue.
to the west, form shines
with luminous white.
to the east,
ominous grey
reigns vibrant.

rain is coming today.

yesterday he tried to dig
four fingers
beneath my shoulderblade.

he could not relieve the tension
in a space only i can access.

i feel his pain and his sweetness and
how he longed to understand.
my heart cracks into a million blades of grass.

moans and sighs
come through my breath
and i wish, for a moment
the dream i had
was not so obvious.

hands on womb
trying with diaphragm
to expand my ribs
— to force a feeling
that did not exist.

truth is what you get
when you commune with
soul things.

indelible ink in watery landscapes.

last night
i listened to
the jungians wax on solutio.

letting go.

three days ago i felt it.
my lips gave way
to three final kisses.

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