the sky was on the edge of storming: wind
pushed through the trees and clouds stood over me
like my father in a rage.
the first time i met you
i cut my hand on an exposed nail
under my desk. a thin red stream rushed
to the cuticle. i pulled my sleeve down,
afraid of your concern.
maybe
it's all the wine i drank that makes me feel
like the world could break me.
one push in any direction
and i'd be another leaf
cowering across your path.
I love this.
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