When you smiled, the morning blushed pink
& gold. Violent & tender. Horrifying & warm.
My ache left me behind. I thought: okay.
I could get used to this.
& I did. I got used to you. You became a habit
& god knows I can never get rid of habits.
You, who told me I was worthy.
You, full of ink that tasted like wine—you
translucent & dreaming of flight. —– Topaz Winters, Portrait of My Body as a Crime I’m Still Committing; “High Specific Heat”
You are not just a habit, but you are a habit I want to keep.
Lisa Gray 