IntenseSunflower

they came over on a boat, i imagine, (for i was not the there and they do not speak of it) they came over on a boat i imagine, just like the rest of them, from lucerne or bavaria or kaposvar or drywseved escaping medieval forests, rain playing peat bogs like organ keyboards, they were farmers, sown to wheat like arranged marriage, mike had one ox, two bulls and a chest like stone & mortar, he was a good man, looked god in the eyes at dawn, whispered secrets to his bedsheets at night, ed, ed was a freight train, handlebar moustache & coal-fired cheeks, when he was eleven, ed built the honesdale canal with nothing except his hands and the

the words 'i love you' have always tasted like forbidden fruit an apple offered by a helpful serpent- sweet and fleeting but the words 'i loved you' just taste of finality. i always thought that leaving you would be like leaving gomorrah that i couldn't help looking back and when i did i'd feel an ocean dry itself beneath my skin but this is so much quieter and so much worse. my knuckles taste of blood, not salt. there is no new testament here just old testament fire just lot's wife standing on a forgotten hill rocksalt freezing her outstretched hands watching her hometown burn below her. there is no forgiveness here just mutual lonelin