Our Love, Deeply Rooted, Yet Prone to Storms

Mornings I wake with your name braided

into the curve of my spine —

I’ve become energetically entangled

with you, and my soul hurts knowing

I’ve added to your pain, your anxiety so

visceral you feel it shrinking your spine.

We’ve been healing and yet we remember

the darkness, our growth is crooked and

freshly marred by this new fight.

Old wounds and old fears have resurfaced;

our love itself like a wound dressed in lace,

our mouths cradling cruelty

and calling it honey.

The love and the pain,

the hurt and the comfort intertwine.

We slip back into footprints

that look like ours,

but older, more afraid.

You say growth is forgiveness.

I say it is remembering

without offering the knife again.

But some days, I wear it anyway —

the blade, the dress,

the bruised smile.

I am lover, I am goddess of love but also

destruction.

I am trying, I am tired.