There’s this
paralyzing stiffness
of a red-hot poker 
with the head-shaped heart of a bull
that pulsates with a pumping gravity
up and in until it’s through, 

busting through,
the trachea and coming out the mouth,
that’s,
that’s what’s pinned me

into the ground.

What was once the silence of agony
now
but a
gaping hole in the refractory.

After the I Love You’s bust 
the load’s for you but no, none for me, our hands began to slip. 

Cold feet,
the cold sweats
the
terminology for whenever the body stops shaking but the soul is still rumble-ing, the uh –

Catatonic
save the dread.

The euphoria of your skin, 
pressed-pasted into mine
now shrouded 
by the knowingness of one day growing,
going,

ultimately limp. 

That the fires dwindle into ember, 
as the air we breathe begins to freeze,
the sun you used to shine on me, turns its back for good. 

And not for nothing, 
but the yearning desire to mourn for the moon, 
to dream again of what was had, what’s needed now,
needing to knead your presence into absence
into something now forgotten, all of it my fault,
with that

stupid
fucking
paralyzing stiffness.

That comes from having you.

Of
having you.

Of knowing you, you knowing me,
not knowing what to do, knowing that you’re knowing me, 
the
matter of time
before someone goes for good.

For fear of what you desire, I can’t give to you
my

my moving deeper-closer into you,
it was never something I could be.  

Fuck man
that pulsating agony, 
the impotence,

Of never knowing who to be.