cold wind slams the capiz shells hard
against one another and I close my eyes,
languishing the memory of your hot
mouth on my neck and fingertips deeply
impressed against my pale flesh
my hands still smell like your skin and
I cannot bring myself to wash them,
bare branches sway as I exhale steam
into the early morning air and struggle
to return to my trembling body
cognitive dissonance tears me open
a fixer and a healer of deep wounds,
sentient witch with knowing to the bone
I have become the man I wanted to marry
but when will he stand at the crossroads
© November 2021 heather brager
