tender tendrils tether themselves

tightly to torso, taut enough to

teach just how to touch–

it’s a little late in life when i

learn how to like before love–when

i learn loathing is like latching onto

a heavy heart, holding two

halves till harmony hits.

but hardly ever does it do

less than hurt–does it do

more than damage.

yet slowly i succumb to someone

who settles my stomach–settles me

into success–

sets my heart aglow–sends me

whirlwinding until i stop

whittling down wit to

fit into some fraudulent

fondness–some place

i do not fret,

do not feel–some

place i do not fully function

– some place i may

flare and not fizzle