What You Turn From

The saddest aspect 
Of anorexia is,
Romance requires food.
So much intimacy lost.
Sharing of subsistence, lost.

I'm on the outside
Of the crucial traditions,
Far from recipes
And family gatherings,
Elfin, alien, lonely.

Nothing like blossoms

Nothing like blossoms
Which flare to life for the next
Generation, cut
By their very existence;
Who will gather our petals?

Although, our seasons
Are likewise short, aren't they?
Billions of heads raised
To the sun; but are we such
Things that never bloom again?

In June

In June he plants
His pennant upon
My abdomen.

At night I find
Connections come at
The right time.

But warmth can soon
Fade into coldness.
Surprise doubt

With repetition,
The right time
Is one replayed

In devotion
Time and again
Until it is known.