blackberry custard

In the arc of the break up

The point where I feel it changing

Your love is a shadow and a tease

Of a knot in my throat

I know it’s the thing I feared

And wept for

It’s a fragile little resilience 

In its honor or by mistake 

I didn’t pick blackberries this summer

I let them ripen rot on the persistent vine

I didn’t bake the usual custard pie

I didn’t break the custard pie 

And you’re not here to hold me while I cry

The purple cream and broken glass 

Bloody on my hands

I try to let the soft underwater moss

Of your pelvis drift away 

In favor of bike rides and my own breasts