TRACING

 TRACING

You’ve been tracing the edges of me,

month by month, peeling back

the layers I’ve tucked away—

compartments I sealed,

or polished to a deceptive gleam.  

Now you see me,

stripped bare, unfiltered,

a rawness that stings to touch.

And I catch a new shadow

crossing your face—

a look I can’t quite read.  

Part of you wants to trust

the poetry I weave,

words like honey,

soft and true,

scattered over you like embers

from a quiet star.

Part of you aches to leap,

to fall from dizzying heights

into the cradle of my arms,

fearless, weightless.  

But there’s a flicker in your gaze,

a subtle arch of brow,

a murmur beneath your breath—

doubt, sharp as flint,

whispering I could never

be tethered to one heart,

that I’d falter

in the long, slow dance

of an afternoon’s love.  

Mistrust rises like a wall,

a shadow cast between us,

choking the fragile roots

of faith.

You turn from what you cannot see,

shutting out the possibility

of a truth too vast to hold.