yearning

fucking hurts 

it makes your veins swell up

coming to the surface of your skin

jonesing for release

can you touch me

can i pour myself into you

do you want me to?

like a child throwing a temper tantrum

who has only kicked the ground

14 times

must kick it 15

before their fire

extinguished

turns to water

their muscles draw in

having done their job for the day

returning to bone

that old hollow home

curling inside that prehistoric

material

our tools

our utensils

our instruments;

our home 

that we drag along

to every other home we make

lovers

parents

spouses

children

i don’t know how to stop my heart from bursting

i don’t know how to stop my bones from aching

each time i have to coax myself back

back

back

stop. 

be calm. 

be orderly. 

do your job, lady. 

if you go on walkabout

what will this old body do

how will it survive 

if it is hollow

it’s hollowness seeming an invitation

for something to come inside

can you let someone else pitch a tent in your heart, dear one?

oh.. i desire.

but if they leave?

what will you do then?

can you let it grow and burst and hurt and boil and scar 

can you hold yourself together 

and welcome every wave of pleasure that can come

without your mind turning to the abscesses 

can you let your body be taken away 

from you

given only to the starlight in your skin

only to the wind chimes in your voice

only to ever relish joy and ecstasy

can you lay that bag of bones down

and offer it up

please take me please take me

i will let myself be owned

by goodness

i will stave off the bad

like the crusts on my sandwiches

the carcass of my lunch

i will become only the fat of the land

i will hold the bad at bay

like i hold my mother

at bay

and she knows

but she does not know how to ask 

for that 

which she only happens upon

accidentally

like perfect seashells in the sand