The Glass Lift

We stepped into a corner of an envelope. It was glass and went to the top.

I felt afraid because this contraption was familiar but never seen like this.

4 segments with a square shaft, going up and zooming down, all made of transparent glass.

I stepped in after you and we shot up. I feared for our lives.

I stretched my arms out as if my fingers would keep me in place.

At times I thought the glass would shatter and we would fall from the sky, painfully flaying limb by limb as we both fade away and die.

The Child We Never Had

We made love a few times.

We imagined our DNA blended.

We spoke about the traits that we felt our baby would inherit.

We dreamt about love that our child would be showered with.

But you, my love, trashed everything we had – you dismantled it and expected to keep parts. The parts that you felt complimented your life.


I could not allow that.

I removed my own heart before you had the chance the trash that too.

The child we never had, is a child I’ll create without you.