the world is gone so carrying
its maps obscured by timestamps
jewelry boxes full of favorite promises,
conviction, confidence, destiny
my throat is still catching its hollow ring

she crosses her heartlips and loosens her lap
to make room for her ambitions
intentions of motherhood, of sacrifice
she holds tight to what she's been carrying

still careful not to lunge her limbs through the traps
the pleasure of pressure, down in the deep
she knows she's just half of her master equation
cautiously ponders her offerings

I always felt like she looked up to me
I never did much to hide my attraction
but I could not share in her affinity
for the only song she wanted to sing

to don a child like bloodfur
filling the gap to lengthen the chain
to pass down my coat of sickness and shame
would immortalize my suffering

so even for all the strength of her nest
and for all the warmth it could bring
I choose my own path and deny her my wings
and so the world is gone carrying
my throat is still counting each hollow ring


June, 2014

Re*ces"sive (?), a.

Going back; receding.


© Webster 1913.

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