From Becoming Amethyst
If he’d have stolen a kiss, what
would’ve happened next? If he’d
leant in hard and pressed against
my heart-shaped mouth, his tongue
entering that damp cave,
tasting the syrupy turning
of my sweet tooth – what would
have happened next? Oh I wonder –
does life hinge on moments like this,
undone? If he’d have pushed
his smoky lips over mine,
I swear my kiss could
not have lied – then I know
what would’ve happened
next. The answers lie
in the seasons, in the trees,
in the daffodil bulbs
ready to push through this sopping
January mud. I know what always
happens next. Blooms
and weeds, that kiss, tingling
promise of life, oh it never fails
to bring a new beginning, yes! –
another cycle of decay.
