A Love to Leave

Lips graze my wounds,

Which sting and throb painfully.

Yet a point where

Heart, throat, and solar plexus

Collide

Soars and whoops and rushes,

Like an unexpected cool breeze

That rustles through the cattails

On a hot July day.

And when you

Run your fingers through my

Short, choppy brown hair,

They are as dragons,

Their flames trickling like water from

Scalp to brain to heart to navel,

The heat not feverish,

But pleasant,

Like a bonfire of cedarwood

On a cold winter night.

Yet the point where

Heart, throat, and solar plexus

Collide

Lurches painfully,

For I know that

You will never be mine, and

That this will end

All too soon.

I miss you when you are here and

If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.