daylight finds me hungry
wind blows through my many rooms
i am haunted by the ways i have loved,
fires, extinguished in my bones
earth takes us in its fist
sky is hungry and swallows us whole
we are soul-scraps crying out about love
that thing we felt everywhere, like a glorious fever
again, we are folded into the cosmic beginning
of all things
eyelashes open up
fruit with the skin peeled back
you see so much more than the day blowing in the wind,
you see what is left of the world, of us.
i want to say everything,
river overflowing, boiling, kissing
you find me at the peak of myself
a terrible creature landing, feet in ink.
season of lying on beds, anyone’s bed,
season of staying forever
never finding what we came to find,
being fine with that.
we become good at waiting.
there are no mysteries, you say,
just things we’ve forgotten
at which point i roll over
like a stone half-bathed in sun
and see, plainly, what is left of you.
in july, you said i was changing. good, i thought. the grass was warm on my cheeks. not going anywhere. reminiscent of a dream where you reached out, brushed the hair from my face, said you remembered now and wanted me again. always the same dream. we can’t explain the ways we move each other, how we change skins under the sun, sometimes shed them. how we open up like sores. to fascinate. repulse. the world makes us and keeps us that way. there is nowhere to go, but we somehow arrive. our desires take us to the place that shimmers, ripens like fruit. even now, the grass is still warm. my comb pulses with want, a strand of hair caught in its teeth.