I cannot do it now,
not now,
not when the weight
of trauma lies heavy
across your body,
in your mind,
your soul,
and you are filled
and filled with rage,
held like steam
inside a pot.

No, I cannot do it
for there is still the wound open,
even as the body is perfect
against the eyes of one
who desires but must pull away.

This is the part of love
that sits with grief,
with death of a sort,
with a wound in the flesh
and the mind scarred over
but still bleeding beneath.

I cannot do it now,
for now is the rupture,
for now is the time for a
different touch
in waiting for the blood to clot
when you know it may not.

 

24/5/2026