Did I seize

From a fictitious vault

Pluck the stars inside

Your eyes by mistake

Leaving you thus inert?

Did I douse your fire?

By placing too many placebos

Into your upset hands

Or did I offer too little

In spite of demand?

Did your soul thirst

For blood, tears, or mortar?

Was I ever present?

Ever generous?

Did I understand

The depth of your breech?

The state of my carapace?

Was I flexible as black?

Or askance as yellow?

Was my suitcase heavier

Than my obtuse heart?

Was I worth my weight

Or did having me hurt

Worse than labor?


Unrelated update

Isadora is on the mend but now I have a fever