you ask how I’m managing
but you cut your ears off
years ago
fingers smooth as
tree bark touch my wrist
there are daisies where your
eyes should be
you’re all I write about –
did you know this?
don’t be flattered
it’s easier to
write about misery
than it is to
write about love
to write about love
is to try slowing the
beating of your heart
to match the pace of your fingers
like holding a moth
in cupped hands
Nicole Marie