Winter Lemons

A lemon tree twists up,
to the ceiling,
of my cavernous heart.

And when i love,
as i do too much,
fruit rolls out my ribs.

Barren branches bristle,
scarring my cherished soul,
all that’s left after i give it all.

Tonight i grab my ribs,
bear the visceral pain,
and knit myself closed.

Winter treads in,
peace of death,
for death begets life.

Let the slumber,
restorative of flower,
set steady in pace.