At times I see you as a structure, arms and limbs and sex run stray. I follow all your curves and paths, explorer to wild wilderness. Every craving spent on stretch or gap another blessing to you as stick and stone for the making, all this compassion driven to craft your form. All this bend and bow spilling into your every crevice, my skin just calls and calls, this looking still a symbol, this light the only way to revelation. All this show and tell entangling you as want and move, the vivid notion of you slows into devotions, the read out loud becomes the only road envisioned. Seduction becomes the making of maps, you become the terrain of all my longings.
At times you are a puzzle, to prod and move to solve. To untangle as a resolution between want and way. Between the clothes that serve as curtain calls, falling wished for and dashed upon the ground, and the long pause of flesh you suddenly unwind inside your mind. So then each saying matters, aloft in the heady dark of things. Were this troth, would it hold true? These old enemies mouthed in one breath, language all knot work and faith. The riddle bound to be slipped and solved by the work of the nimble tongue alone. Saying makes it so we say to the song of the world uprooted.
At times you seem a system, like a ritual raised from holding a steel coffee cup for warmth. The way these fingers intertwine, holding you so certainly close. A process slowly enmeshing every sense, each action numbered and witnessed, your every chore adored. A ritual with order and flourish, the time of the day, the place of the sun in the sky. As if I could learn the pattern that would surrender you to my hands. As if all this asking was enough to wear down the road. The slow certain press of your lips against a letter. The way the ink dries line by line, the mistake I make again and again. Your name as if it contained some miracle. Your name as the action that will free the world.