Soft as She is

It’s no use

Mother dear, I
can’t finish my
weaving
            You may
blame Aphrodite
 
soft as she is
 
she has almost
killed me with
love for that boy
– Sappho
—-
She has almost killed me
with that ancient ache
that beats, flaming
curdling milk
in a room that saves no space for it
She has almost killed me
soft as she is
with the thinness of her love
that slides off her envelope shoulders
while mine mangles my hair
drags my shoes, sticky

There is no copper-coated balance
just an angry consistency
floating above one
that scarcely notices it

I/want/you/(to leave)
I/want/you(tostay)
I/want/you/(tocomehere)
(please)promise/this/has/been
driving/you/just/as/mad

It’s no use
soft as she is
all weaving breaks apart in my hands

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