I am being betrayed, as I speak:
She comes out at slightly irregular
and prophetic times,
sometimes full of grandeur, but still hesitant, some other time,
disguised in a whisper.

She leaves me alone,
but comes back, as expected,
to parade in vestments of desire, embodiment of either love or despair
laid on mundane but often
penitent lips

She loves me alone
when I bless her away,
she loves me more, when I hold her against the silhouette of a life-giving kiss.

I am being betrayed, as I cry out:
she always leaves me
as she lets me be
the truest version of who I could be,
for seconds, over and over:
empty of myself,
closer to my own demise,
unwaveringly rehearsing the departure
that would separate us forever.

I betray myself, as I live:
I am simply trying to mold her in a poem that might save us both
for good.

A seed in the palm of the wind:

my breath