A Poem A Day, Poem #45

was your love thing a more alive thing than my love thing?
or was your thing a lesser, simpler thing perched delicately
atop floors of flowers, superficially swimming in a slush of
sparkles, a delusion of sweet spots tossed with tired kisses?,

and was my thing a reckless, scared thing twisting in
the trickery of whispers on webs, sick with heart stains,
tumbling through the vertigo of violence in your hair,
trying to catch a better balance from the lovely brutality
of our thing?,

and my thing wanted to grow more things,
and your thing was a dull thing, a playing thing, like
something that melts quickly on the tongue,

but your thing was as sweet and soft a thing as my thing

and i still carry my thing, kept quietly alive, tied to the
head of my heart