The Lover

softening the edges

Arms crossed above my head
I drape myself across the edge
of the counter
and stare into the black of my sweater
wherein appears a glistening pool of water.

I look into the feeling
for a sense of softness
amidst sharp edges.

The sides of my ass throb,
reawakening
from the chill of a brisk walk
where I attempt to reclaim serenity
through sound waves.

All that’s left is this pulse.

I move myself to a stool
at the counter
strewn with ends and odds and
consider all this changing.

Were the words I used honest?
Or ways to create
subtle separation?

I want to become an invitation
to you and I
to crack open
and breathe again.

Breathe in pain
breathe out blessings
a teacher once told me.

I do it.

It works.

The pulse is still here.
My heart rate is slowing.
I am softening.

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