I should have written this a couple of weeks ago..


We lie so much, pretending to be chaste.
No quiver and no blush. We keep our face
poker chip cold, sat in the sticky place
our heart’s become. And then we come unlaced.

Something undoes us. It might be a cake
a cookie. Tristan standing on the deck
sipped knowing at the drink that meant his wreck
and she drank too. So that a heart can break

a clit can sob, we eat or drink small death
in memory of love. Something that’s true.
It stops me lying when I’m holding you
for moments I am blushing short of breath

as limits break and promises go dumb
I tell the silent truth and gasping come.

About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
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