Rope Cracks – Amy-Jean Muller

the lassoed loft of this love
that won’t let me die
Born as rope cracks
whips around
branches of aspirations
Hanging neck side
In your family tree
                Ergo the entanglement
                Ergo the efferous lot of a wife
Turgid tumescent
Swollen in salt
Looks back at her life
                Without you
Asleep with
Efficacious dreams teetering on the points of waxing moons
Cuts through the night-time of my penitent
Where congruency falls
And tides ride with a sting in the
deepened cuts from stars forcing your life on mine
                Perhaps impudent
                Perhaps improper 
                Perhaps nothing more than imploding
This predication, presupposition, projection of a happily ever after
sees me miscarry
Through the mourning
And the night
                Where planets cease to see any purpose
Of saying
                I do
                              I don’t
                                              I did
                I didn’t
Love you to begin with at all