You are all spines
And I am all punctures
Waiting to happen.
I’m sorry I used you
As an instrument of my own destruction
By saying it was fine
That I was also all needles.
But once I saw where the wounds could be
It seemed fitting and right.
Because a weak spot
Broken and healed
Is no longer weak.
“Thank you,”
I say, soundless.
I hope he can read lips,
While not looking at my face.
I had spent too long away,
Lost in thoughts far from the crowd,
And upon returning found
My voice had been lost in transit.
I try again,
To push the words out,
But by then he’s gone,
And I’m kicking myself,
For being rude,
And being away,
While someone,
A strange someone,
Was being with me.
Seeds spilled from the bun
Looking like ants
Until one of them crawled.
The simile fell away
And I couldn’t tell truth
From style.
nicecoasters 