Laala Kashef Algahta

She is brittle.
She says her feelings could break
like bones.

She stood tall on the hood
of my car, tap-dancing,
scratching the paint job.
My blood boils

but her feelings break
at the sight of the wave
shifting underneath my skin-
she pauses, small,
and falls cross-legged,
onto a fracture, bounces slightly,

She is a tooth-ache I cannot ignore
but my heart is in her back pocket
and, skin against skin, my home.