He texts me a week later
says “I’ve begun writing again,
feeling again, eating,
Taking an interest in my wellbeing
again.” That is what my love
does sugar tits.
It does not comfort or numb
you. It sets fires just beneath
your skin, turns you shrilling to the night
curling inward towards your heart
Cave. It reminds you of your creative
nature, but I kiss him sweetly
goodbye just to the left of his sharp
lips and send him on his way.
Out through the front gate
into his own unfolding and I am left,
thank god! To be left! To the love that lives
in my body when it is all mine.
I kiss him on his way and then, the speaker
howls and I dance in yellow joy.
And right now
I am okay with that.
I prefer that
that when it is the right time
He will appear. The universe
knows, for I put my order in a long time
ago and when I smell it leave the kitchen
I will know it is my batch of cookies
and he won’t text
me after a time, thirsty for more
radical self-love, fire
belief in art and shiny things-
he will show up at my front door
that night, where earlier,
I kissed him goodbye
into a slow dewy morning.
He will show up with book in his left hand, Chopin,
He says “the edges of the tanned pages reminded me
of you, your blonde eyelashes slowly batting
open this morning”
My smile opens like a flower
just for him for I am delighted to see
the universe knocking at my door again today
in the form of a mountainous man.
His armor melts in my redness,
“I adore you, I do. you are not the woman
who buttons my collar
sends me to work- I have been doing my work
all along, welding my soul in solitude
And I see the calloused corners of your hands,
When I woke today
And saw your bare feet laced
through mine, I recognized their souls-
you are the woman who’s
footsteps I have wandered next too
in all my lives.
Walk with me, won’t you?
I’ve missed you for
thousands of years.”