My words. They come out twisted and tangled.
Incarcerated, they escape with their knife edge sharp,
slicing quick serial ripples of mad spinning crazies.
Damn there they go and I grasp for them back
as you gasp and implode
into silence – but it’s loud and explosive,
a deafening wave wrapping me into you.
Twisted and upside down wreckage.
Eyes narrowed, downcast, fleeting
your door closes again and again so softly
and your back keeps walking away
and neatly you fold your love up in squares
and your cold shield blocks my words.
Words untwisted untied, laid out clean just for you.
Words grasping for forgiveness
floating in hollowness,
drifting into the after shock.
My words. Still twisted and tangled
still stuck in the knife edge wounds.
But you’ve gone now
with your squares of love
and the beautiful cross you once shared.
— Foraging Squirrel