Desire
My desires are impossible to decipher. It presents an image, an almost comical image, an expression, imprint of the ways in which love lives in things. A gush of faucet water throws up the thrill you send through me in your awaited absence. It is ridiculous that I cannot produce my desire for you as coalescence that can proclaim language, art, history, and every justice in the world. Yet I find myself gently rising, like eyes touching the summit, to the conclusion— I need you as reminder. I don’t need to imagine sweet childhood loneliness to describe love anymore. Instead, I must find ways to retain you on my skin, because love is lost in the seines that cover me. Never can I shake the habits that leave indeterminate all the ways I will embrace you. I know your sharp eyes have already made note, the ways in which I fail, in which I paint the tapestry of desire, with nothing but euphemism. I will not repeat but I am toppled by the ways you shift, a flame of notion, an imm