Wet Paper

Our eyelids slowly fold,
your fingernails creasing my skin
as you tell me not to cry.

Suppressed by geometry,
there’s no room for imprecision
in our origami sorrow.

There will come a day,
when wet and wrinkled,
our tears will finally fall.

Surrender is unconditional love.
Wading through waisted paper,
we’ll sigh before we die.

Thank God for decomposition.