trace the line they make
from foot to floor-
my skin crawls
with the shock of feeling again
and you can’t take this from me.
willow bark for my head-
never enough,
though,
for my heart.
crush the leaves i gather
in my hands.
An offering to you,
love,
something to whet the incessant
swelling of your ego.
varieties of nightshade
line our pantries,
and soon enough
your tongue.
cresting my mountain-
feeling heavy in the air.
I’ve found both the
beginning and end
and with no water in sight.
Why then,
am I still drowning
while I
laugh at the lack of
icarus paradox to blame.
And
also at you-
smug,
event-
ually
(alone
)