Sweet Thing

Let the grief sit there,
untouched.

Like an artifact that
can wait all of
eternity to be found.

A time will come
when you are leathered,
but you are too newly skinned
today.

Some may tell you to
pick it up,
caress it,
hold it,
be grateful to it.

Others may filch your wound
to peddle as their own.

But dearest heart,
do not strive to inspire.

Sit in the room without speaking.

Be with this
without
saying a word.

Let this be what it is.

Entirely yours.