596

she tells herself
and him they’d break each
other’s backs out of love
heart-sickness
storm brewed tea with spices
she called their love’s elixir

I don’t believe them
their chests are stained glass
church windows
high and black things
bright only in the fleeting hours
of somebody’s worship

after a few months
after the fear grew from a seed
to a woman at a bar with a boar’s face
they split apart
fissured into soft continents
shifted forever into immovable
mounds of dirt and stone
places for another lover to put
his
her
head