Apostoly

in the new age

I found my self lost, crying hard

in someone else’s secret garden: softly spaced

amongst the flowers and I

have never felt so powerfully alone. You

appeared, immaculate, grounded down in

my least bads and ever mores and you

told me all the ways I could be saved and

somehow none of them included me

(or even any mothers at all)

until it smelled so strongly of sweat and roses and vanilla

that I went catatonic

and closed the book forever