the sky is afraid of falling in sections.
who would have thought: for kissing my fingers
I would kill to keep your unsteady affection
when my stomach hurts for a more than lingered--
and they think that they are allright now,
they think they are whole. let them sleep
like my swollen caterpillargirl with a sullen brow
and her thick elbows that go far too deep.
let her go, let her go
into plywood shadow and proverbial bed,
because you are a stranger and loveingly slow
at the breaking my heart that will happen instead.
so an empty dessertspoon cracks a small smile
and so the
water in its crumblecrumbs begins softly to cry.)
(c) september second, l.m. kwa