I’ve seen you smile in fits and starts; your mouth is the softest of crooked lines.
You think I’m not watching as you try to untangle that mess of teal yarn, your heart is not your sleeve and not in your hands. Everyone else is gingerbread.
I’ve seen you bite your fist like a child; your teeth are the sharpest of crooked bone.
You think I’m not watching as you squirrel away centuries and decades, you don’t know how to compartmentalize time. Everyone else is serene.