Crossing the hedge
You’ve been gathering grievances for so long, stacking them every which way so that every edge of the border you built is thorny and dire, a barrier as full of corpses as sleeping beauty’s hedge, and you alone in there with your drumbeat heart keeping you up nights. I don’t know the magic words, and those thorns are bitter bleak, and maybe I shouldn’t even try to get through. If I stay out here under the moon, and light a small fire, would you come out to me? If the smoke got in my hair and I had to blink away the stars, would you kiss me?