writing

❝ well here is the thing
i have not written you in a long time
have not transcribed your form in dark ink and brisk movements against white
have not mulled over the fullness of you in my mouth
have not held you tender, held you sweet
held you between the arch of my fingers and the ribs about my heart
but here is the thing
it is like the tree:
twenty years ago, and again, now. ❞ ​

—a seed planted, and replanted