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.
