EVERY TIME I LOOK BACK, MY CHILDHOOD GROWS HORNS; ON AGING.

my lungs.

they are too small for my body.

they have not the mass to handle each shuddering breath, each desperate gasp that begs “please, please, let me express something”

my body.

it is too small for my feelings.

it snaps and groans and stretches to try to accommodate the maelstrom within my chest, to no avail, so the scream claws its way up my throat and out my mouth, hurling insult and injury towards anyone nearby.

and I stand in the aftermath,

in the rubble,

and wonder what I have become.

in dedication to summer rain and the smell of petrichor

“i’m sorry,” I whisper desperately.

i’m sorry for feeling too much.

I’m sorry that it spills out of me uncontrolled, violently.

i’m sorry I was never handled gently.

i’m sorry nobody ever taught me what love is.

The Poet, Reynier Llanes, 2021

so hold me on the way down,

and do me no harm,

i cause myself enough injury

from day to day, love

Hydroluminescence

(c) gifs by riverwindphotography,July 2023

Alpine lotus leaf flower

I would go through it all again for you

a hundred times

but I do not think I would still be me

when it was over

Communion

And when I place the body of Christ underneath my tongue, when He dissolves like fine sand, like sweet honey. and when I gasp, when my pupils dilate, as I glance at His heaven, 

Will you seethe? Will you lurch forward, claws digging into my shoulder blades, ripping out the muscle to lay flaccid on my back? Will you remember our nights, reach down to my Achilles tendon, and tear it? Will you force me on my knees, and not allow me to fly away? Will you grasp my two hands in your larger ones, crush my palms together, and will you beg for my forgiveness? And once you have forced me into loyalty, will the blood wash from our hands?