I poured herbal tea on your wounds,
and used the tea bags to wipe off the
pleas I painted on the wall in watercolors.
I mixed my tears with your favorite color,
so maybe you’d remember how the lilacs
looked in June, but you only remember
how the hornet punctured your neck and
pushed your heart back down to live
with the maggots, because the world is
no place for a naked heart.
Don’t worry, love.
When you hear the buzzing sound,
It’s only the sound of the kettle.