For once I’m not threatening you with desire. It’s something more sacred than that, but also the need to ease my legs out of trousers and walk across the deep, cold desert on my own.
But it is also revenge. Anger like a hard kernel in the fist of my heart. You’ve sculpted my eyes into new shapes, and they are thinner and less forgiving for you.
The words pour out careless, and everything I used to love gets trapped in a vase, gets shipped to the four corners, gets kicked repeatedly until the energy burns out.
But not the ice.
Maybe I’ll forgive me now. Other people’s tolls: Things they took away, loom so big in the sky, but there’s something left behind. Something harder, smaller.
The arc of the pubic bone,
the screech of rest
the air of festivity when you’re free-falling
but can still pick the destination, within a couple leagues, where
you’ll break the earth with these knees, these trusting knuckles. But I’ll tell you something-
something essential died here.
I’ll keep walking.