That Strangely Knotted Memory

ImageWe shared a bed in Taipei and you told me you could never love a man with manicured hands
so I manned a cure to this problem by way of auto-cannibalism and power tools.
Faking a knuckle-dragging persona, I could now feel warm caves with my fingertips
and ended up hurting you so many ways with these stinger lips.

That salt’s not kosher so don’t rub it in my wounds,
you wanted our love to grow in your womb but it was too soon
like your brother, taken by a bus,
it should have been just us but your heart only swooned.

I was a doctor once and I can put you back together
I know so many knots that I can tie your wounds shut with trefoils in my mind
and weave your shoestring dreams into that forever-sweater
that you promised I would find under the Christmas tree that one time.

When did gravity become stronger than us?

 

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