My lover grows, twisting dark roots
into my hair and under my arms
like a broken embrace.
False affection snakes ’round my ankles
and smiling, whispers,
“isn’t it nice to be held?”
I clutch at the slippery coils,
but they slide around my wrists
and squeeze—something cracks.
My ribs crush inward,
puncturing my soul,
and tearing through my skin—
then I hear Love calling out to me,
and then he is here,
and his bleeding hands untangle the bindings—
the ones that I had planted.
Powerful arms raise me up
into the hands that hold the universe,
and my lungs inflate with life.