Why Did You Let Me?

We were lying

in bed, I touched your hair

softly.

And you let me.

Build up hope

with that intimate touch.
 

Right before you turned

to face me.

With stones in your eyes

that said “GET THE FUCK OUT."

So I left 

without one more touch

just to remember you by.

And you let me.

Maybe you didn’t mean

to let me slip

through the cracks and the creaks

of the apartment.

But you did.

So when I miss you

I remember those stones,

what they say

about your heart.

Deda's Reading Glass

Light as a feather
of the frailest sparrow,
held in the strongest of hands.

Hollows along the bottom
so small 
you can feel them only
with your eyes.

Looks rough
but smooth
to the touch,
the tip of my fingers.

Dark black
overlapped
with silvery swirls,
rusted and dented and bent.

Small slice of glass
used to amplify
tales in a tongue
I still don't understand.