Her Terrarium

Couldn’t he see that she was made of glass,
how her feet danced away from love, a ballerina
in denial, her gravity orbiting him

how his bow & arrow eyes had already
pierced her onto the wall before he spoke,
could he not know she waited on shelf’s edge

to explore the shaded lines of resistance between 
the taking and the taken, and the succulence
found there, buried under tongues

that refused to wait in shadow, light flushing all 
that is ripe, and the need to shatter the casing 
of the unspoken for, bursting vines

crowded her terrarium, drawing him
both under and away, to be her moss,
to cover and tease open roots

wrappings of flesh where she almost believed 
in their humidity, and the fog that hugged
the walls became a dense clarity

hung out to leech toxins in the sun, 
while they tamed their toes — point, flex, point,
her hopes reach the bar and…


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