not fragile like rice paper, fragile like shrapnel
she was not fragile like a flower; she was fragile like a bomb. -Rahul Singh
the axe head's weight tugs at the handle.
your firm grip loosens off his shoulders
letting breath exit from a balloon's neck: a quick rush
& wood splits in two halves which can no longer
secure him to your chest. distance becomes an orbit
while air fluctuates. thoughts spittle like two birds
falling. the splinters, wet with sap. the bond, a proposal
reminiscing & drifting. our vows now two fractions.
an inhale incubates eggshells & infringement
between sheets
your hospital bed took you
into its arms and taught you about caskets
-- john compton is a gay poet from Kentucky. he lives with his husband and dogs and cats. his newest full length book is the castration of a minor god from ghost city press [dec 1st 2022].