My mother warned me, of the
pain that would come. How it
fits itself into the bone of you,
in the places you won’t even let the dark touch.
The way it seeps, finds your
palm. Tries to brush the depths
of the soul, through
your fingertips, left
freezing. I brush her
hand, leave it tainted.
Taking some squandered joy, marking her as
mine. It would be better if left,
but I fear the pain has found us both already.
It’s in the tilt of her jaw now, maybe
been there longer than we noticed. I
promised her love, in sickness and health, in pain and pleasure
to cherish her forevermore. I’m afraid it’s
another promise, broken.

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Lillian Fuglei is a queer poetess based in Denver, Colorado. You can find them on Instagram at literary.lillian.