so arcane
so esoteric—
built of synonyms
and connotations,
I know
this feeling
well.

again—
lightning behind
city-stained
orange clouds;
and I know it is not blood
that feeds my earth
but wind.
wind
and the fire
born of airy nothing
behind closed eyes.

again.
again.

your skin
my love
is asphalt against my palms
beaded by dew and rain
as you strain
strain
to break your bounds
strain against me
arching forever
towards the sunrise.
I feel your bones
in the stone
beneath my feet.

is it in
the bruiséd sky
in her wordless
bone-shaking
spells
that I will finally
learn
your name?