the cherry blossoms open

like lips, guzzle the glitter

of a star speckled morning.

my fist chokes

a pearled moon,

skull of rabbit,

tooth of fox.

your palm—clasps mine:

heart-shaped

locket.

is this—

forgiveness?

weakness? grace? the end of blame? mercy? compassion? a whispered confession?

amnesty? purgatory? pity cloaked in love? a meditation on kindness? serenity? prayer?

radical acceptance? healing? the only way? the other way to just get over it?

a prerequisite to guilt? innocence? the secret of happiness? i want to be simple

this warrior life,

mat tossed across

the carpet written

with fur, dander,

odours of breathing.

how easy, i avoid

every wreck:

swerve my foot,

sever toes from root.

my legs

fail

to balance the ostrich

of strange weight.

boyfriend, can i rise

to your lips knowing

you nested another?

beyond the tips of my fingers, rage—

scatters

like spent cherry blossoms.

if the earth can house betrayal

& still love—me too.

my hamstrings tremble,

our shaking planet.

love, your arms are melodious

with the good smell

of budding tulips, dawn

butterflies feelings

of seroquel,

calms the garden

of second chances.

cherry blossoms

whisk our chins

to flamingo-sky.

High Park,

your flowers sway

outside the arrows of time,

the minutes

withdraw, undress

each tree to bud.

boyfriend,

photograph these knobs of fetal life

as soon they bloom.