your failures,
my
offenses.
my failure,
your
woundedness.
your grace,
my
weakness.
my hopes,
your
dreams.
your questions,
my
questions.
the list of ‘druthers is
long and varied.
we are not so different,
really.
perhaps our memories fail us
with their (un)certain grip,
or should fail us more
often.
it’s all in the way
we cook the books –
what
we write; what we erase.
