- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Like Grief
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The first time
you told me
you loved me
the street smelled of damp summer
last stitches of some stupid
argument long forgotten
still
vibrating
the cloth of the car seats.
You told me with
tears running down your face
your voice broken
your head down
my regret and self-loathing
crowding my throat,
choking
all stopped dead at your words
I sat shocked.
In the rain our voices
our breath
shared existence, fogged glass
the salt taste of your tears
on my lips kissed away.
I sit here in the frozen waste
of a February Wednesday
different car
different glass
different decade
and I stare at the frozen intricacy
frost from fog where we'd sat in the car
speaking the night before
our words embodied
captivatingly complex crystalline constructions
speaking to me of summer
so long ago
...and I love you so strong it’s like grief
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