Salt


Like a flipped-over puzzle to me,

the edges of your heartflesh—

regal pieces

of stained glass and veneer.


Who are you, love of mine?

Not my love;

I was never under

such delusion.


I map our trajectory

with sorrowful hands,

the topography of unrequited devotion

an elegy in Braille.


All instruments fail to measure

the weight you carry

in my bones. You would sink me

in the Dead Sea.


And I would live it willingly—

a fate of saturation—

if it offered permanence,

a way to hold you


in my cells like water.

I’d surrender the need

for land and air if we

could inhabit the dawn of time.


I’d cast off all evolution—

eons of bells and whistles—

if it meant

that you could be mine.

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