The Swell of This Heart's Compass

typewriter

This love I grow will be wound all through
the fibrous strength of my musculature,
woven between tendons and bones,
pooled in pockets around cartilage when I rest.
I want to be hated for it,
roundly criticized,
so that I know it is working,
because darkness panics, and darkness is clamorous.
Darkness howling is the melting witch.

I'm falling in love with the swell of this heart's compass,
slowly, steadily, hotly.
The decades make us brave.