these iron bands pull in and out
a plastic-wrapped interior? vacuumed free of air?
I gasp but do not breathe, I sigh but do not exhale
sick of love, love-sickened
clapped on the shoulder, “my girl”
calling me/missing this too?
I leave. Lotus.
I want to scrape together your shatters and remould them,
working my fingers through your cracks, the places
love has been torn away from, your insecurities
burned away in the kiln of my hands. (fire of angels, fill me)
I will use my nails to scratch off the gluey false security,
let it wash away in the water, leaving paint.
You are beautiful, creative, and capable
let me help you see that.
