010 | K
there are places i go
to remember i exist
and one of them has a name
it's not the forest
or the lake
or the fire
or even the bed i sleep in
her name is a weight and a shelter
it's a a tether and a door
it's the gravity that keeps me from drifting
her name is
a soft place to fall
a breath that lingers in the curve of my neck
a myth my body remembers
her name is the taste of the word “stay“
— and i carry it like a spine.