Untitled 2/30

Sometimes I wish
caring was seasonal.
That I could pack away
the feeling that wells
up in my chest. Feels like
inhale before explosion.
Fold tears, like sweaters
into plastic bins.
Label cardboard boxes
of worn apologies
“for the salvation army.”
Won’t need to wear
remorse during the spring.
Cleaning my tongue
of dusty words
misplaced after the wrong
sentence went running
through the loose gate
of my mouth. Nonchalance
blossoming in my smirk.
Spitefulness collects like
Early morning dew
on my lips. But
an untamed mouth
is dangerous. And actions
that go unconsidered
are deadly to the conscience
Reconciliation always satisfies
when ripe and pressing
against the odds.
I can’t imagine
a handful of months
waiting impatiently
for fields of red
and purple horizons
that come from
making up
just before
bed.