if you want to restore a man to his former glory,

draw him a map of the stars

and ask him to point to x

knowing that not all who wander are lost, you will

welcome him home to your arms like the

prodigal son

and count the days since he was home in


still, do not heed the warnings of

well intentioned martyrs

draw him a bath and shed his skin

watch it drop to the floor and let him

eat from your hand

smudge every place that she’s been

remind him of what he had lost and then found


he will lick his wounds


his string still around your pinky

he is a kite in a thunderstorm

not ready to come down

he called her electricity


when you stood in your kitchen, dying

in the dark

the walls you built

too high to climb

his eyes lit up

giddy with the thought of her hips

in his hands

and not yours

as you bowed out gracefully

to the sound of joyful humming,

exited stage right

smashing windows in your mind,


left him in the hands of his new teacher,

gave him five years to break

only to

meet him again on his knees

why is it always on his knees that you trust him the most

and now

he uses words like watertight

and stone

immovable, unchangeable

and you sigh

he offers himself up like a man who has seen god

brings you wine and books and more

scars than you know what to do with

you put them into piles

rewind the tapes

reset the stage

and begin again

he is nervous around you

you are wilful and defiant

the skin on your feet thicker from the

last time you danced

on shattered glass

but it is better than dancing alone

he chooses his words carefully

you scare him

in at least ten different ways

but when the music plays

you will take his hand a little firmer this time

and teach him to understand


Written by

Write the truest sentence you know. -Ernest Hemingway

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