11-month Love Song

When I’m stuck like this

Decisions don’t come

Possible solutions

Half-formed ideas,


All plagued with

If, then, statements



Monstrous anxiety.

Everything I do

Or say

Or think,

I analyze:

Is it kind?

Is it true?

Is it necessary?

Am I making all of this up?


My thoughts

Aren’t true;

They play games

Pull me under.

Know this, love:

I have yet to find

Any guided meditation

Any singing bowls

Or music

That eases this torment

Like listening to you sleep

By my side.



Hold your breath in such a way

While you read yourself to sleep

One breath out

One in

Then held onto

For several beats;

Habit formed by an old injury.

After eleven months

I’ve grown more used to it;

Just one more piece of you

I tuck inside my heart.

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