fixation

You sway upon the secret axis, between the flame and the lotus, between the serpent and the wolf. With every step you dance and smolder, every stroll sends many brave men to oblivion. You weave music from the very air, calling down clouds and flowers, tending to all your storms and swarm. Dark wings blotting at the sky as the sun wanders the world weeping, aching after your warmth.

How they have spent their best words and their blown kisses, salting the lonesome night with their tearful pleas. How they have spent the engine of their fortunes, trying to find some shine that could light your eyes. How long they have burned with the grace of your fire, how long they have shouldered the burden of proof of worth. You with your magic of spring and blossoms, your scents of bee-line and crow-flight. You with your ten thousand revelations radiating from the alchemy of your vivid living flesh. What chance is there when you own the cards and make the game? What is there to winning when you already have it all?

It isn't that I don't feel it. I am bound more than most to the workings of the timeline and the lapses of living. The world hums a droll, tuneless song as it surges through me, this collection of gaps and gluttony, this assemblage of opinion polls and guitar licks and archaic tools. The rhythm of your hips is the beating of my heart, and I feel the flames consume me, just thinking after you. Why should things be any different for me? I know that want is a full-time thing. Only its direction ever changes. So let your bounty sing and pull. Let your beauty align with the spheres and all their seeming. I am used to being on the outside, used to the sucker's bet. When I have been wrong about almost everything that isn't measured in blood, why would I even begin betting with the house? Having already denied myself so much, how little the difference left in denying you.