there are worse ways
to write poetry.
i am made of petals
blowing in the road
i am swept around
in traffic and underfoot
stomp me into the street tar with love
i know the soles of your shoes
like the palm of my hand
i know where you have been
and i know where you are going
and please, take me with you,
there are worse words to
tattoo on your breast
i am every phone call “i love you”,
i am every “get home safe”.
i am words in the air
i am nothing; i am here
only because i love you
mari jagt, 2020.