Parting

I'm not giving you
                          up;
 I'm  letting you go.
 And I'm trying to
explain the difference,
 and once again,
 I'm getting nothing
                   done.

  I'm trying not
                                   to leave you with claw marks,
 but you're mauled, and
                  my hair is messed like I've been in a bar brawl,
                                                                                      so, I guess the secret's out,
I'm
no good at
               this.  The

sun is
shining an alarm in all its yellow.  The sound of bells surrounds, goad that it's time,
 and I'm stuck inside.

Flexing beneath
                     that first kiss,
 I gave you my fear, abandoned
               apprehension.
 Did you hear me sigh that night,
                               in that place, where all was sacred?  We
                                    hiked on into evening, leaving heat of day, gleaning as we
                                                                                                                         went,
momentum
 from the darker, browner
 prints
 in the
            trail
where the
              recent rain
had marked out simple notions.  The willow
                                                      weeds mourned our descent, and so
                                                                                    did I,
still sated
by the memory and the potion of that earliest taste.  I would not
     trade that
     trace of pearl-
                         like found promise on your tongue.
                                                                    Take away the
                                                                     thrill, the favor and the savor but not
                                                                     the choice, and
                                                                                 I'm sorry now, wading
                                                                                 in the wide wait well of
sacrifice.  Penetrated by the prize, full
        from wine
         ripened in pursuit, so
                                   this pull away like the forced crawl of the
                                                                                 cherished thing now clipped of wings and wasting.
     Scared, I bring an offering - an
        account of all
I'm not.  Hold it tight,
          the

racing.  Have me when I'm grown.

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