Sometimes I wonder
if I love these symbols
more because I've gone so long
parched for love
displayed out in the open
for sway-ings like mine
that any little drop
feels like heaven
sent springs-
even when in fertile grounds
it would be too stagnant to ponder.

It's not that I
don't believe in
soul mates,
that I don't think
there's a soul to
match or complement
each soul;

It's that I strongly suspect
that the soul that matches mine
died in the crib as a child,
Or wandered off into water
when no one bothered
to teach them to swim.

I'm unsure of the connections
between my sensations and
my body, this tiny euphoria
that I sense around the edges
and yet can't quite grasp onto.
I cannot feel it inside of me,
and the glow that is noticed
feels only like a tea dipped
edging upon blank paper.

I think I'm supposed to
be appalled or frightened
By this incongruity;
but in the face
of the disconnect
I can bring myself
to feel neither.

There's some sort of
discrepancy between
my mind and my body
a self protective disconnect
in response to relentless
pain- the nerves screaming
that invisible hands pound my flesh
that after days on end are
muffled into a distance
brain expending all its energy
into building those reinforcements
and straggling on through
the fog.

If all hearts break open wide
at every instance that
deserves to be called heart breaking
the hearts would be
dust and unable to fight
the breaking;
Let your heart crack
little bits to be reinforced
to stem the bleed.