I’m still tied in your old knots.
All of you. All of your ties.
Soft velvet cracked old leather.
{ they chafe just the same }
Ghost bindings made of words
and indifference. Young mouths
with mature plans young hands
building sandcastles in folded time.
I am bound to old concrete
shadows of form, drained by ghost
teeth and old mouths
dripping red promises.
Always sweet tongued
until the bleeding starts.
February 2, 2024