Next Time…

I want it to melt in the hot pan of your mouth, to seep into the crease of your lips, and soften each rough patch you’ve carried thinking it was armor, and this was war. I’m looking for the kind that’s a cage opening, and a rabbit running from a hat, and the hand that holds the hat unfolding to reveal a lifetime of secrets inscribed in the language of skin. I’m talking about the ridge running through the center of each palm and my tongue slipping into the groove.  I’m saying let’s let loose a radical honesty, a vibrant policy of disruptive truth.  I’m turning to myself in the mirror, smeared toothpaste and all, saying: I’m taking a sledgehammer to my triple-locked basements. I’m walking into the dark well armed.  I see a fabulous kaleidoscope of broken, and I’m gonna make something breathtaking from these shards.