don’t marry me
Remake me
out of clay and spit and lust
mold my heart to withstand
grief and fault lines
split apart my atoms and rebuild
those faulty genes who gnash to destroy
don’t marry me
submerge me
in an ocean where I’ll come to life
whole and unharmed, revoking regret
until bloodied knuckles are scar free
and breakage will turn to you and say
yes, love doesn’t have to spread poison
hurricane’s collapse, Babel’s echo
for she is no longer in pieces
for she is no longer in pieces
In my mind’s ear I hear a refrain, Neil Young, searching for a heart of gold. And now I think that a love that does not spread poison would be close enough, and without the heaviness of gold.
So raw