365 Poems/66 Ritual

Ritual

 

Even after all of these wars

with myself, you still say

that when we are together

you are full of quiet joy.

 

You have grown accustomed

to the wasp that keeps coming back.

 

You visit me when it hurts the most,

and I say you don’t know what

you’re letting yourself in for.

You say you know everything

that is worth knowing.

 

You say that your favourite noise

isn’t silence, but the sound

of my laughter. You say it triggers

your hormones, it makes you alert

and excited at the end of the day,

when your energy supplies have been

wrung dry.

 

When we’re together, it’s like a ritual

of great power. Pain and wonder is shared.

We feed each other.

 

I tell you how I’m attached to the moon

and it’s glow. That I like to wait under it

until I am silver cold.

 

You tell me you like building fires,

and putting them out, before kissing me,

and setting foot on another mountain path.

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