dear sophia,
sometimes i see him,
floor caving in,
like blood rushing
to the stitches,
like bad memories
squeezing through arteries.
sometimes,
i am home.
window pane eyes,
the slight tilt of his head
is soapy bath water to my
muddy legs,
softening and
breaking down.
angel of love,
make my wretched heart tender, not tired.
she is calloused and cracked.
she is cold.
she doesn’t believe in
it all works out.
she doesn’t believe in
the right time.
her glasses are smudged
and this light is causing a glare.
give me a breeze,
i can’t breathe,
and my heart is weighing me down.
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