Hungry Echo

I wake up to the echo

thick

and

ringing -

hands overflowing from their weary ache,

for my sake

I wish you well.

Sometimes, I want you so bad that I can't breathe

my strength only

goes as far

as

me

standing

alone

clutching

at the air

and mere memory -

I always seem to get lost in the hazy drip of you,

I can never reach out and touch what I need.

When it's dark and I feel the sigh

I close my eyes

nude

beside the vacancy

and you brush your hand across my back like a paintbrush

(echo. of. idealism.

echo. of. black. and. white.)

you draw passion on me

and cut it clean away -

a kiss

something

so coherent and dispirited;

I'm raw

between your hands.

Reach my fingers down

embroidered,

and

bursting

from their direction -

Mesmerized by the way your eyes squeeze shut

lips ach to part

quiver

shake

and

quake

and then we're asleep again

(First we touched bodies

and then we touched words.)

Hungry for the need of everything;

wasteful

echo

that shatters the glass of my painted fingernails.

I'm a child

with love potion dripping from her fat lips

glossy

and transparent -

(my eyes close

when you reach

inside the center;

bent on the

clean cut

curve of the

two of us together.

In that loudness

that echo's

of us

the movement

swims through my blood stream

syrupy and hard

I can taste the very essence

of your voice;

feel it cluster

and vibrate deep in the pit of my stomach.

Wilt up

-bite down-

vanish.)

I feel so alive that it hurts;

silence hides

within that echo, darling;

it lingers

as the sun might

rise

in the middle of the day

a cold stray of warmth.

Frozen hands

and rainwater on my legs.

I fall asleep to the echo

breaching me,

teaching me

all of the narrow paths

and doorways

open for me to go through

just to step farther inside of you.

It pulsates in the palm of my hand

knots up

my stomach

I grip hairlength chances

stolen seconds

- whisper

when I know nothings there -

all for the echo

(all for the echo, darling.)