A shattered glass that mends itself again
from fragments that reflect a thousand times,
cut to the bone. It’s breaking in my rhymes
slowly it topples,flies apart in pain

The window on my soul, glass poured from heart
filled with itself and blood. Its motion slow
as love’s beginning and its end. We know
happiness evanesces. At the start

of each new love it swells to one great chord
then falls away in fragments, dissonance.
Our feet grow tired, and stumble. It’s a dance
of changing partners. Is its own reward.

Heart breaks and breaks again. I love so much
because it breaks, stabbed deep by each girl’s touch.


About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
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