Rest slickly coated rocks
tucked in close to chest.
Weighted.
Beneath gasps everything else.
Suffocated.
Maybe not so much a woman,
with hands that don't know gentle.
My chest is a door.
I go inside.
The walls here always white,
bare, unencumbered, empty.
I have left you to find me.
Blind.
I have allowed no loving efforts
in the edges of jagged I keep.
Left more stone than sweet,
with hips that sway too stiffly.
I have come rock collecting.
Wanting for bitterness.
I'm awed.
In your eyes rest the burdens
I've come to collect.
I had left you digging,
slipping, round
and round.
Reaching into this cavity
that calls itself my chest
I find only softness
and you
have released me of the rest.
