Excalibur

Oh, gentle ceasefire:

my resigned acceptance

lies like sheet-ice on lava.

Rose petals hang heavy

on the cool surface,

perfumed, putrid yet sweet

reminding us that rot comes easy in the heat.

The truth is I want to wrap you up,

and unravel you,

soak you in warm water,

hold you from a distance,

If not with flesh and bone.

Yet how do I lift you

from your stuckness in stone,

and wield you to yourself

so you may see you as I do?

Excalibur,

if only you knew your brilliance

but you feel only the blurred margins of yourself

escaping from you.

Sprawl of self, sprawl of legs,

intertwined, divided:

Our easy reciprocity,

strained with tension

yet pinned by care.

It needn’t be this taxing.

It is enough for me to stand aside

and forget myself for you

or forget it altogether.

It is worth it to choke back my words

for the sake that you can breathe.

It is enough

to sit quietly in the dark with you,

my hand retracted from yours

and my anxious heart wide open.