Construction

My vagus nerve has notches carved into it,
you can almost hear them creak when I move.
Every layer is built of everyone that's made my pulse quicken,
micromoments of frequencies of love that scaffold the path between my head and my heart.

Parts of it you can loose your fingers in,
it's both sweet and sticky to the touch,
the kind of honey that's seductive until you realise you're drowning in it.

Other parts are resolute,
forged by scalpels in concrete that was left to drip dry when I found myself alone with a home only half built.

Other parts are delicate and made of a brittle glass of words left unsaid, tempered by the hollow melancholy of 'if only.'

Some were forged in the dissolusion of youth,
grandly planned foundations that petered out before any meaninful shape took place.

Part of my vagus nerve is still being built,
it's unweildy and sprawls out in precarious directions,
balanced along unusual angles,
some of which I didn't realise were possible.

Love has given this section freedom to grow,
provided a sanctuary to occasionally crumble and be helpled back up,
and the comfort and safety to develop naturally.
I hope it continues to grow,



Poet, UK, trembling with tenderness since 1996
More from Jack Molyneux
Trending Posts
Boygenius’ Friendship Trap
Like Dominoes – Why Crypto Exchanges are Failing
Ari Aster's Families On The Fritz
Featured Music
NOW PLAYING
Playing Next
Explore Music