I bruised,
I grazed,
I spun your love around my neck.
Those were not bells,
But a welder pounding
The last hours of his workday.
I was not walking,
But the ground was sliding.
It was bitter,
But I burnt the pot even more
to find its sweet.
I didn't want to remember,
So I folded myself like old bed sheets,
Crossed twice at the same crease.
And put it at the top of the cupboard.
