I am so sorry
for not being able to
keep us both afloat

-h.w.

I've got a sandpaper face,
Burned, calloused hands,
And a stone for a heart.

You speak in velvet,
You write in cursive,
And there's butter in your chest.


You will soften me;
I will harden you.

Oh, memory strike
down my waning pride,
and like the visceral
oceans in the sky,
fall each dawn as dew,
and surge each paling dusk,
pour like torrents
of monsoons \ hurricanes.
Serve only as a reminder
of the wars I've lost, and
the battles I've just begun.