I owe you an apology.
Alone, I traveled to the seaside
of endless chains of white rosaries, beneath.
They were the cushions between my toes,
as I sat on a fusty bench.
A place where, in the morning,
the water was a firefly jar.
I journeyed to a woman, who
loved me more than you.
So as a deceiving artist, I
drew her with my finger – sculpted her even.
Still, she was only a ghost,
And then to the edge,
of a rooftop somewhere everywhere.
Where what I saw below,
were your arteries. veins. valves.
Doused in vermilion and something more.
But I am sure,
I had left your heart
in a safe place.