Your eyes were hunters as you watched me

snatch the air
and personify it, drastically.

It almost had a heartbeat.


Tell me, if I let you
breathe it,
if I let you
touch it,

would you?


Would you let it sliver through your fingers,
stealing the heat from your palm
before turning into liquid
and dropping to the floor
only to pool itself into

a puddle,
a white shadow of
an exhausted soul?

Not even if I dared you?


Surely you realize by now
that life does not lay out
the red carpet for you.

You have to kick the rolled fabric
continuously,
or walk on the cement sidewalk.

I have already helped you
(although you choose to ignore it)
in ways that should decorate your path,
or at least make it easier
on your feet

Because sometimes these puzzle pieces
are wrongly manufactured
and you have to take from others
in order to finish yours.

I have done that for you.

And though it may not be
the prettiest puzzle
you can’t deny that it’s
complete.

So take the wind that beats,
and squeeze it in your hand.
Let it drip pathetically,
momentarily,
to the unforgiving ground

Because you’ve only one person
left to hurt

and that exhausted soul

is mine.

 
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