I want
With the stroke of my pen, to strike you down
With the blink of my eyes, to unsee you

More importantly

I need
With the tools I surely possess, to repair my own heart
With the uncommon grace that is my sinew, to forgive you

Myth Until Then

When in my next life
To be caused to know
What led the learned
Head tilted to wonder


The curve of your forearms
The ness of your sinew
The steady of gait despite your bumps and stripes
The all of your being I believe it must be

A most curious creature