“a labyrinth is not a maze,
in which confusion is the aim.”¹
the path was always inevitable,
never quite chosen.
the unavoidable moon reveals
blood in my mouth,
the Pleiades on my chest,
bobby pins in my bed.
the doctor recommends
that I change my sheets
and strawberry ice cream
to dull the taste.
we put our rings back on,
none committing so much
as a phrase, a secret,
a well-wish, a guarantee.