Anemone

Let love flow and it will always come back to you,
she said to me.

Well, I have love to give,
but it is trapped somewhere dark in my belly and can't be free.

I think I locked it there once, in winter,
to keep it warm and clean.

Sometimes, at night, it's tendrils reach for you,
but shrink back, recoil, like an anemone.

It curls through murk and brine,
flower-like, predatory.

It listens to you breathe and waits for you to reach for me.