There’s a
love out there beyond imaginings
—a love that
might be madness.
It’s in how
her sleeves stop to reveal her skin,
how her
texts are wild birds
landing
in your
hand.
It’s the
tender way in which
she holds a
piece of fruit,
in how she’s
sort of clumsy,
and how
that makes you hot.
It’s in how
your lust is mixed
with
worship.
It’s the
face she prepares at dawn
with her magic
little tools.
It’s in how
the line she draws for others
is the line
you’re asked to cross.
It’s in how
the blueprint
burns away.
It’s in how
—mind with mind,
or loin with loin—
you can’t
get deep enough,
in how you’d
cut each other’s wrists
to merge
them at the wounds
to feel it
all completely.
It’s in how
the wicked little secret
is shared
with her.
There’s a
love out there beyond imaginings,
that’s rebirth,
rare and one
I’ll die alone
for
if that’s
how long it takes.
There’s a love
out there,
a howl that
calls the dawn,
a resonance,
an
invitation
somewhere
in the wilderness.