They burn my tongue.
The words that I should have said
sit in my mouth like red hot flickers.
I pick the inbetweens of teeth,
cleaning out the remnants
of stale moments between us.
They cling incessantly,
the way clouds embrace mountain tops,
cold and blinding.
All I can do is stay
where the earth wraps around my feet,
where only a certain touch can save me.
But some memories are nightmarish
like smoke from a freshly watered fire.
And that’s what you are,
a killer of reason.
Or was it always me?
I made your hand fit mine,
but I’m neither sculptor or God,
so everything was bound
to crack and fall apart.
I make a habit of keeping my cards close
but it is a wonder
that you keep yours out of sight.
Is that what got me?
The wonder of you,
something that was never meant
to be mine.