The Moon Cup

A force of nature can never be stopped, like
the way we love, or eat, the way we breathe,
or the way we kiss like this, or bleed like this.
Maybe we can never escape the forces of our own,
like how we choke our rivers with our sorrows,
or how we turn our hills into landfills the
color of dying roses. And maybe our hands
are meant to fashion a small purple cup that
fills and pours what we would never dare touch,
like liquid rose petals thick on our white palm,
surprisingly raw and rich, surprisingly warm.

// Oct 2016

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