Breathing
Viral in intensity
This is like standing
Close to the tracks when the train
Roars by
Horn sounding in abandon
Through every piece. . .
you Back draft
like Fire.
And wasn’t I fire?
Wasn’t I
Something subtle slipping in
Where nothing was supposed to be?
Wasn’t I so much brighter than this ?
I won’t,
Take your words too seriously
because;
I am breakable
I am fragile in ways
that super glue won’t fix
I am kintsugi sealed
With gold leaf on the fly
of Some late spring night
And this is unexpected.
These are the words for what is left
When all I am
Is too much passion
Held together with parcel string.
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