Remove my organs.
Make love to me.
Hide the heart.
My blood is pounding.
A waterfall against my ventricles.
Thicken the sentiment,
maybe it will stick
and my body will work properly again.
Where did the falsity come from?
Feeling in a place overpopulated
is as useless as breathing over the dead sea.
Deprived of Oxygen.
Starving for Love.
These roots do this to me.
Wound in the ground like the the veins near my heart.
Keep us breathing.
The twists are as tangled as teenage love. Without the naiveté.
They write names in your skin
thinking it promises some kind of permanence.
Years after we are gone, your branches will keep shape.
You are the mother.
near this river where the saplings want to know your grace.
You are the outside peace.