I believe you are the fire that could burn an eclipse,
that could bring me to knee-shaking, mouth-watering highs
with only crumbs as bait. How my tongue
anticipates the velvet
texture of your edges: the mellow meshes repulsive, while
the tempered yellow inviting,
it is akin to
a stalker grazing a gazelle just right
that it could run but not so fast
that it would be out of sight — and the hunter
is actually at the gazelle’s mercy;
a prey merely in play.
I believe that butter is as sweet as sweat on skin;
that oh-so-rough skin that housed needles, that I
but tasted once and stupidly let go.
I believe the brightly-lit field melts as quick
as lightning-emotions that start a heart
racing, galloping through that satisfaction, knowing
that all fullness leads to emptiness.
I believe that you are the manifestation of my hunger,
and that in consuming you, in feeding on you, I confess my need.
I am but a waiting fiend, with terrified eyes and lips,
an old soul privy to what these feelings have in store:
too aware to crave,
too weak to resist,
too untrusting to seek help,
too shy to boast,
too discouraged to begin,
too lazy to move,
too proud to admit
that I have ruined toast.
…and I felt lofty; a draft caressed my ears
in the rapture of a forest and the calm of a pond,
in the cloak of ceremony, where like minds struck
a deal with the sun, praying, “Hold them, there.”
And what would I trust? Would I trust words
from lonely pages torn
from a worn-out book,
from where brumous eyes
would lay rest, my conclusions, or worse —
I walk with cranes,
their souls on stilts, minds on legs,
that set their underbellies too high from the brush,
with feathers that seawater could not touch.
And the beasts thought they were making changes
to this sanctuary, but they’re not;
their beaks write on water, and live off
what little fish they could catch.
And the silver-skinned creatures, they bask, and they border,
embracing the idea of extinction amidst plenty.
It is not surprising to find one’s self in a dream
where the chaos of forests feels like home,
where the morning alarms are all primate’s howls,
as animals lead the people now.