Ribbons


My chest falls like a breeze with clipped wings,
feathers weak and fragile,
the jelly at the center
quivering.

The puncture hole sits,
open but healing,
the skin beginning to scar,
a white, shiny cap.

I remember the moment the magic ended
with you,
sweet and shadow-capped,
silhouettes and teeth.

Tenderness died that day,
tearing with it
the streams and forest bonds
and I didn't know it.

The reeking knowledge is worse,
a stain on gray cells and light eyes.
The day you were human,
with pretty bitter almond words
chipped out of heart-flesh.

Emerging from the rabbit hole,
the world was sunbright hell with memory.
Your eyes were hooded,
your fire-step set for escape.

Self-righteous snits and cycle clips -
how the ache rides deep inside,
hard and acid with anger
that you deign to give me your trust,
that you reprimand me for your precious little secrets.

How little you know of me.
Little being with little dreams.

And what wouldn't I have told you
In the sunlight magic,
then in the dance, the grace of touch.

It was my offering and you refused,
Backing away into your familiarity.
How comfortable,
your noble quest of self.

May you quest long and well -
the owls will sing to the moon
long after your wings are spider dust.




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