The people of this world are like the three butterflies in front of a candle’s flame. The first one went closer and said: I know about love. The second one touched the flame lightly with his wings and said: I know how love’s fire can burn. The third one threw himself into the heart of the flame and was consumed. He alone knows what true love is.
Rumi
We bask at the potency of our words
How we make language and lovers bend
That we could sharpen knives with our tongues
We draw blood
To compare whose blade eats the most flesh
I do not want a love
Masked as manipulation
I do not want a love
Constructed as a game
The ember in your snarl
The bark in my belly
You say you’re still healing
I too am damaged
I too mistake spouts for clippers
I am cloaked with crater-wedged scars
