Poet 11586

False witness

Which secret ache
mars your heart
I wonder into a place
not meant for expectation
where shy veils outsiders
you reach for crutches
lock hands, elbows
position ready
lean into purpose
drag motion on legs
loose appendages
tripoding a body
never its own
do you wish to be
what you see in me
I can only hear questions
projected onto immobility
birtlocked by deformity
suspecting less than is
in perfection denied
can love ever inhabit
a fictive devoidance