How She Untied My Tie
The evening was purple
she sliced through it
breaking apart it's
Structure,
bringing color to its
Silence.
She held my hopes with
the same ease with which
she holds the earth;
in her palms,
peeling it like her very
own fruit.
Hopes uncovered, bare,
in her palm
I became undone
and what of my hopes?
Her fragrance was stubborn.
And what of my hopes?
Dry in the midst of a moist evening.
I ran into this very same
tie a week later,
hanging in my closet
closed in
in an atmosphere
without substance.
I don't have the nerve
to put it on again
to let it hang around my neck
the way it did that evening
with her
undone.
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