Monday, November 29, 2021

damn, gravity


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

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