it’s been underground for a long time, hasn’t it,
all that complicated stuff that leaks from your eyes at the wrong moment
just below the surface and it rushes up in a red eruption, flaring then cooling, a crust again because it is easier to cool than burn,
there is more protection in a shell than to be on fire all the time
because it wants be about what was, never was, is and might be and might not be
wants to offer salve for all the burns, all the disembodied phone calls when questions hung unformed and unanswered,
wants to burn it all down to ash
wants to be about fixing everything, scorching away the pain that we let time create, the midnight silent, ceiling staring why
wants to be about joy and the nectar of your hair, the salt of your skin, fingers touching
wants to be about joy but becomes about time
wants to be about joy and becomes about missing
wants to be about lips together, soft and brief
wants to be a closing, a cooling, pain subsiding, release
wants to be a fissure, heat tapped and rising, then bursting
the channels of love and pain and distance and blame unclogged
wants to be about both giving and taking
wants to be in that moment free
wants to be the tear wiped from your cheek
wants to be simple
wants to be that instant
when we float.