I am the line.
Feb. 2019
I am the line
stopping you from devouring me.
I am the line
tossing in the swirling seas and high waves of the never ending mind
I am the line
rescuing myself from me, from you, on a day in February
I am the line
drawn taut between the nest and the pink clouds in the west
I am the line
you wanted me to be, to rescue you when you were recovering from self inflicted wounds and careless neglect
I am the line
running down the highway daring myself to run in both directions at the same time
I am the line
electricity bolts through at high voltage in hopes of keeping the house heated and the lights on
I am the line
of invisible umbilical silk between you and me
I am the line
Picasso draws effortlessly of her curved hips and triangular mound
I am the line
determining the truth of what you mean to me and not the other way around
I am the line
dividing the elemental horizon between land and sea
I am the line
penetrating the softness of your being, splitting it into a safe place for me
I am the line
separating you from me, we are not one, I am not your extension, you just gave me life
I am the line
the scar, of the reciprocating saw, down your breast plate
I am the line
the 49th, a swath of trees cut like they were grass being scythed on a Saturday afternoon
I am the line
you don't want to cross
I am the line
drawn in the sand