I bounce
into it, been awake like ten minutes, so desperate to flit, fly, frantic into a
kiss. you know me, a racing locomotive, a calm warrior, a soul you might need
to adore. I made you priority. you made me a dungeon—loving to visit, waiting
for touching, a soul is crazed to claim it. I was dying. you made dying
beautiful. things I can’t announce, running through Europe, headed back to
Jamaica, skipping, laughing, no one quite to blame for my life. so simple the
prose, so prosaic, take it back to its roots. can’t explain the tingle, the
pulling, the resisting, the seduction, the wife, the husband—so simplistic life’s
clichés. I was trite, delighted in it, so much an oxymoron – feeling like
someone in need, incomplete, vying for admission by rulers. I made a collage. I
made Jell-O. I sat and waited. it’s cold. it tastes better with us. you have run
from us, so close to us, intimidated—I find others irresistible—feeling unattractive,
ashamed, bending low, near a furnace, rivaling a campfire. I imagine warmth, a
snug tug, nails so deep—the blood trickles. I met us in a dream. you appeared,
cleaning a facet, mouth to a spigot, so much a dream, filling up on wisdom, the
water we consume. so restless, so many nights, waiting on my life, waiting on
your magic, kissed several times, no one there, each of us there.
