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.

New 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

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