Fresh cuts

And sometimes, even the act of loving self seems impossible.


60 Seconds

Roses rolled up in closed fists
Fitting for another quiet dinner,
The menu for apologies.
Torn patterns of remorse.

We both remember what we fought for
We both remember times when
War made sense.
Tonight we watch tears fall in vain.

We’ve come to a place unfamiliar
To both of us,
All the while spectators boast
About how far we’ve come.