It Was Always Boulders over Chandeliers

for me. I thought you knew that
​from the way I sit, cross-legged
​in expensive restaurants. From my
​bare-footed teaching, my love
​of mud, my insistence on orange.

When you sat gently across my bed,
​I thought you saw the roots I will not
​yank, the pride in cowdung. You saw
​the cracks in my heels, never dreaming

you’d exploit them. I gave you
​my whole. You couldn’t resist
​breaking. It was always ruins

​​over castles for me. I thought
​you knew that.

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