Heart vs Head
My heart has come loose again.
She falls forward into the cradle of my ribs
as if they were two hands mimicking a book.
The slightest shift of her weight sends me spiraling.
Who knew that a needle could be seen
as an implement of war but I have used it as such.
I who would, keep her in place, whatever the cost.
If she had elbows she might hold her sagacity,
if knees she could crawl or beg
and given time I might even find
relief in her reluctance to conform.
Her hollows are overrun
with the diminutive, nodding heads
of snowdrops huddled
in endorsement of spring.
She loves so hard
that it breaks her
and each day we must start again.
She is the charcoal scattered
underneath the fire.
The residuum of desires
that burn hotter under confinement.
I cannot tame her.
I cannot keep her from you.
Whoever you happen to be.
She lacks discernment.
Her walls are fine as feathers.
Her dulcet flesh tremulous and uncouth.
She will not listen to reason.
She is destined to beat herself to death.
She exhausts her ingenuity
conjuring lovers from air.
Were I to surrender to all of her whims
I would need first to sever my roots.
To be her I must be like the ocean.
I must adapt.
I must be at home with uncertainty
but I am not at home anywhere
least of all in a room filled
corner to corner with the eyes of others.
I pull slivers of bone
from her sobbing, upturned shell.
She has lost her shape,
her color, even the copper bite
of her native aroma.
She is deflated,
pale and watery like a tealight.
By night she will be smoke.
By morning she will be
as gullible as a wax figurine.