POEM: PREDICTABLE
My hands reached for almond milk
knocking over the butter
I moved and caught it
as though it never fell
We move in patterns
on purpose
spirit bathed
slipping out of time
as though we'd never been born
I hate it when he
speaks of her and to her
pretending her failure
will fly forever
He speaks and knows
he misses what she
radiates of love
because love is endurance
I know it is infinite
because every time
my birthday candles
melt on a dark chocolate night
I return like Antares
image source: https://unsplash.com/@tvschaitanya