Empty (if it must)
A loving hand does not clutch until it aches.
Work With Me // Poetry // Theory & Praxis // Collective Messages // Ritual Reflections
the part of me that loves you might say
congratulations. but that is not the part of me in
tears. the part of me in tears would have you suffer,
as i have suffered. but that is not the part of me that
loves you. a loving hand does not clutch until it aches, does not cast cruel eyes down at the mouth
who is gifted whatever nectar they might have coveted for themselves. a loving hand lies empty
if it must, trembling with desire until it withers
or is filled. the part of me that loves you might
watch her mouth fill with your sweet nectar and smile, blessed to bear witness
to the sating of her kin. but that part of me is buried under
promises nobody made, like a damsel, waiting to be excavated. i watch her wait
and wonder when my hand will become loving again,
when it will extend into the rubble and free her,
when it will watch your nectar drip into another mouth and
smile an empty, loving smile—
the kind of emptiness filled with its own sweet sort of nectar.
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