i feel heavy and humid and i find myself again staring bewildered at the epilogue expecting more. lacking closure, i am stranded in last year’s lonely flood that’s dried into stagnant pools, reflecting soggy smoky eyes where doubts swim wild.

constancy is not always dull (i find moments of euphoria in each miniscule heartbeat that oscillates against my chest), but it’s hard not to long for the shape of another to fit against yours when you’re between sleep and dreams. it’s a somewhat demure tragedy that i require someone else to keep me whole, but if we keep expanding we are sure to collide for now we have hovered at a tempestuous distance.

you can help me to strip away the frigid soaking layers, with a tender harshness characteristic of your kind. surely i’ll realize that there’s some comfort in alter(c)ation as you strike a match against my ribcage and set fire to hesitation and rumor and entitlement and everything that holds me back from emptying myself into you.