it’s images like this i’d live and die for
kept securely within my chest,
a less piercing form of homesickness
more beautiful -
you aren’t here and yet i feel - and i want you -
as if you were in the next room
it’s been years and i am just now telling you
things that i, before, kept lodged in my throat
it scares me still but i want you to know
the same way i did that way in july when i first
overcame my fear
so let me find words for the finest kind
of golden hour within my mind -
you call me a hurricane, a sea
but what if, for a moment, i was still,
held, wrists in your hands
above my head?
i am all angles and curves in all the wrong places
hard-edged everywhere i should be soft
eyes too dark to be this light
but what if i was beautiful, something close to gentle,
then, there, to you?
i’ve spent my life as soon as i could
running, but what if, for once,
i didn’t want to flee,
held fast in that early morning light?
then at last, desperation could go unspoken,
but be known and seen and felt…
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