A quote flashed up on my feed today,
It read something like —
“Maybe I started kissing strangers, because you didn’t want me anymore.”
My sternum felt like small fingers,
were pulling at the nerves, nerves which, apparently, are blocked from this space that feels so much.
I feel like someone is pulling threads, from the gristle of me, between and under my breasts, making a tapestry, unmaking a tapestry, making a tapestry, unmaking a tapestry —
Of so many tongues,
brushed up against the underside of my palette,
as they swallowed my lonely, and I theirs.
“Was it because someone didn’t want us?”
It shouldn’t be so easy, for words that don’t roll, or rumble, that don’t describe strange actions or feelings, that don’t have anything divine about them…to mean so much.
It shouldn’t be so simple to touch the making and unmaking of the tapestry of us.
