if today we were perfect

 

​

the best versions

of ourselves,

 

still there would be

a kind

of collapsing

 

a photograph bent in

on itself

could be enough

 

as our toes creeping

toward the sun

like rosebuds

 

not looking forward

to wilting

but we will

 

i want to tell you:

we could

have climbed mountains

 

in your chest i found

diamonds

and kept digging

 

i’m sorry i couldn’t

tell you why

 

i wanted you to know

without knowing

 

this is not a game

but i’d keep playing

if you would

​

 

​

​

​

go gentle if you want to

 

​

i’ve forgotten

my name but

there’s

music in my mouth,

as usual

 

we shouldn’t let poets

lie to us,

but we will.

 

i’m not saying hope

is good. we’re not

 

pretending we have

a choice, just that

 

we haven’t

already

made one.