there is growth

This poem isn't magic. It's an emotion that needs to be written and placed. It is different than what I have been writing as of late. It feels different, neither lesser or something else. Read it or not. But know it is from the heart and passes aesthetics and line breaks and accepts cliches buried and written over. 

there is new growth in the building 

all the while onions are chopped and rotting in the fridge

we argue over kimchi 

over the house only one of us imagines 
we talk about rent 
over the tea that lukes and loses 

there is new growth where there are stagnant bodies

 in the building 
  we interact like children 
    neither feeling young nor old 
       we are living in dual time 
          where he was when he was 
where was he when he was 

womb portals tell me that's the only way i'll know 

i see a baby boy 
and smile seeing his ears. 

but we live on different planes with different interests morals mostly matching. 

we could make love 

if my body could make love 
if my body wasn't scared of love 

the intensity of love 

the intensity masked and falsified by the reel 

women muscles contracting yet not transferring real contraction passed screen into room. 

i am unable to accept anyone. 

but the shapes that make him are amusing 

    he is cartoon walking 
    mixtures of men 
    and kind souls 

    he has horse hooves, no ankles, and it is lovely. 

    he writes IT, all of it, often. 

he can do this for days 

yet he sleeps like rocks 
only eroding slightly 
   fish lips by morning swollen by oversized mouthguard 

he finds his way onto my pillow proving my point. 

erosion, not of love 

magnifying decay

i am not obsessed with the image of a strong woman 

yet this is what i am breading myself for 
as the waters wash us out of cream sheets each day 

as i realize that i have begged him for children 

   for i have begged for more of him 
   when he is nothing but moving shape memories 

flip-books to show the teenagers. 

as if i should get into cards 

understand my fate 
understand this love 
this connection 
this undeniable sign of differing time why don't they ask lovers to explain physics. or doctors to read cards. i feel that i or him will leave me soon. 


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