Pearls of Salt

It’s one of those days where 
finally 
I allow myself to sit down and relax --
and I end up strained, choking on the tears.

I can’t tell if I’m avoiding my fears 
or facing them. 
Maybe, I realize, 
it’s because I’ve accrued so many of them. 

Nestled in my diaphragm, 
curled up underneath my ribs, 
hooked through my liver and 
dancing between my kidneys. 

I thought I caught a glimpse of one 

trailing across my collarbone 
in the faint light of the bathroom 
at 3:34 a.m.

There are nights 
I sleep with the light on, 
so I can catch them quickly before 
they scuttle through the cracks in the floorboards.

The only time they are kept at bay, 
is when your form slips in

under the sheets 
next to mine. 

I still hear them 
purring velvet lies 
from the depths of where they hide,

but your presence --
the heat rising from your skin, 
the musky sweet smell of the pulse in your neck, 
something --
something acts as armor to shield me.

I’ve never met anyone else 
willing to lick the pearls of salt off my cheeks 
in hopes of cleansing my rust-stained soul.

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[BDOHERTY527]

I hope you read these to himmmm xox