In Places Hard to Find by Melissa Chappell

Time was a blue trailing meteor

flashing across the glinting coal of my eyes,

defying the serene, still, spheres

floating, then paper moons folding,

slipping to the floor,

clothes, in vast disarray,

from one space to another,

he and I searching, naked,

because fucking 

scatters inhibitions 

in places hard to find.  

These passing weeks

were the spangled river

of our milky galaxy,

a riot of undoing, 

rocking me into a

cloud of unknowing,

in which I breeched my vow—

the mark of blood on him 

wailed silently over my 

wastrel love, yet in 

my mourning

he held me fast.

In the starry pool of his shoulder

were moss, birch, wine   

the tannins of goodbye.

I had sworn to the 

gods of the spheres

to withhold my 

love for him,

because loving 

scatters the heart

in places hard to find. 

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