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,
the trachea and coming out the mouth,
that’s what’s pinned me
into the ground.
What was once the silence of agony
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.
the cold sweats
terminology for whenever the body stops shaking but the soul is still rumble-ing, the uh –
save the dread.
The euphoria of your skin,
pressed-pasted into mine
by the knowingness of one day growing,
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,
That comes from having you.
Of knowing you, you knowing me,
not knowing what to do, knowing that you’re knowing me,
matter of time
before someone goes for good.
For fear of what you desire, I can’t give to you
my moving deeper-closer into you,
it was never something I could be.
that pulsating agony,
Of never knowing who to be.