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.)