App-lies

 Tenderness is the earth-bleeding hunger from my shining lips to open arms.  Darling, come. My lap  

will be your pillow and I will stroke your hair as you fall asleep.  

Tenderness is trampled and bruised as highways are  

filled with foggy windows and shopfront profiles,  

we are window-shoppers of love and we  

prefer to admire pretty things from afar rather than going inside and asking for the price. 

You are worth it my darling.  

I repeat these words to so many men, so many  

boys, these hands are still with power they hold. They  

know what they must do and busy  

days are stab wounds I wish I didn't have the knives to.  

I'm sorry, I hope you can feel just how  

sorry I am with these texts and emojis,  

I am afraid that my love will be mistaken for judgement. 

I am tired of bringing myself over hills of disappearing shopfronts: blocked  from view, because my keypad is not my mouth, my hands, my eyes.  

Look into my eyes. Sweetheart, see the truth. I am not here to  

fix broken men sweetie. I'm not  

a miracle;  

never was. 

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