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Let me stray to seas,
where the edges of my soul
won’t cut your ship’s hull.
–the end. Except…here’s a lot of drafts I wrote when coming up with this idea–
My soul’s harsh edges
rub against the glass ceiling
when I dance alone
—
Dancing here, my spines seek solitude.
—
Let me be alone,
from the reminder of edges
rubbing at my soul.
—
My spirit’s glacier
will wear down your mountain, are
we better alone?
—
I find comfort here
where my soul’s harsh edges
rub against no one.
