Wordle #38 Spare Me

Wordle 38 Dec. 8

If my heart was
A spare key
The locks that defend
Your penitence
Would not revolve.
To remember you
Is to forget the mien
Of my ambivalence.
I cannot alter
A single thread
Even though the attempt
Extends deep into
My sacred complex.

A souvenir,
Your smile is only
Beautiful on display
Wedged between my teeth
It looks oddly cynical.
There’s not enough beauty
In you to compensate
For the beauty
Blocked in the crux
Of your ongoing trial
I wish guilt were a virtue
That heaven might not be
So quick to judge.

Traffic begs in the fever
Of a belated dawn
A casual seance
A kiss with hydrogen breath
As passive as stones
We suck on chapped lips
In the frigid mantel
Of a clinically negligible aurora
We have ruined everything.
I have been thinking a lot about the inability to forgive oneself and the consequences. About how we “create” our own hells.