I.
The love you give—
Isn’t always held.
Your heart—
Can’t always be followed, appreciated.
Don’t let this dull your tenderness.
You still deserve love returned.

II.
I bled violent purple.
I shed the past—
Let it go.
Tears, the salty grave
I’d avoided, now taking shape—
Sprang up.
Want—
An injured thing, meant to bleed red—
Yet I saw violet, incensed—
Instead.

III.
—I don’t know.
Yet it supplies the pressure I do know—
For both of us.
Creating streaks on murky glass,
To begin with.
Love isn’t a question of know or don’t.
It’s the shapes we make with eyes closed—
The vowels we give—
Mouth a magnet.

IV.
—I thought I could help.
But I didn’t ask for help.
I asked for love.
I asked for someone to hold commitment—
With intention—
Just like I give.

V.
Admit it—
You liked me more in fantasy
Than when you met the me you see.
I’m a diamond burning holes
Through the pockets
That think they can hold me.

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