Two lovers stand on the brink

of a knife’s edge — their daggers traced to hearts.

one hovers swaddled in a cloak of figs, while the
other lays quiet in a bouquet of wicked mustard.

a mirror to a glance and she disappears; a little
less unsuspecting in her dress of calico traumas.

swallowed up in paltriness the lavender bends to
her limelight. a gulp and a glance; fire in the bell

jar and she’s gone — slipped through his fingers
like a crust of thick-cut lace. my breath sticks to

the memory like the cut of an old bayberry. i tried
to imagine you another but the smells weren’t in

the right places. you’re plastered to pieces of a new
making. hold fast. tomorrow we’re due to shatter.