when i was seven
the breathing came easy,
spiraling out in waves and stages
of quiet humming, longing without the rust
or the wear of years

at twenty, i speak in riddles of
drunken perception at three past midnight,
and beneath these layers of guilt
i carry within me a soldier
with a heart that has yet to be born

i sit on pavements
spitting out clementine seeds
as i cup my hands to your chest,
telling you to spit love spit tears spit longing

i cup my hands in yours
to let go

you speak in broken riddles 
and i am partial to sighs,
refuge is severance and erasure,
reverence is how we honor pain

(in shutting out the darkness
you keep out
the light)

hold your ground at the other end of the line,
they will never leave us alone