i do not understand my emotions
but when i am alone, sometimes
they pour from me like rivers,
flooding the grass.

these days, i go running on trails
and i am easily soothed by this action –
my fists clenched, i breathe hard,
i feel my feet hit the soft earth.
i am reminded of native hunters
padding silently, moccasin focus
to bring home beasts for bellies
hungry from the nightly chill
the scent of crackling fires
in every hearth across the village.
i wonder if i will ever feel that thrill
this lifetime, or the next,
find myself yearning for
much simpler times,
although –
nothing is as simple
as it gets when i am running.

do not mistake my silence for coldness –
i push when i am overwhelmed
i look away when i feel bound to pay attention
my heart yearns to speak, to make a move
but you feel so endlessly consumed in
fantasy.

i am unreal, in many ways,
but too real to feel able to compete with
imaginary men that have no depth –
golems made of muscle, husks
bronzed in moonlight, impossible –
or were you putting on airs
to see if i’d notice?

i did,
and i do –
i tried to rid you from my memory
but your presence in the world
has made me feel. i forgot i could,
like i forgot the taste of ocean salt
after years of mountain winds.
despite the distance, i would trust this feeling
if only you returned my gaze.

in dreams i
want you to whip me

so i can understand
so i can feel that

great desire as it
rushes from your mouth.

chain me to cement blocks and
strap me with timebombs and

make me sweat like i’ve
tried to run.

just to know that
you want me enough to

touch my body, make me
feel that longing like a cut.

aberrant, desolate feeling
like black stones beneath
gray earth

tumbling at the slightest disruption wave

pummeling bodies
skewered, torn, bloodied
facetious lamentations

the pulp of flesh singing to me jarringly

can’t stand the bleating
of the lambs afresh from
rain stricken fields

i’m parched, anticoagulant, i want to go home

desire me, youthful grin
transform me, ceaseless discovery
can’t stand the beating

of the hailstones upon my head

if i could give back
your saliva
i would

spit it deep
into the viscous hole
that is your throat

allow secretions
to return
to vacuous abyss

i conjure waves of knowing
with this bliss and
suffer only

to see
the light
break through

the foliage,
jungles of dark desire
forming bloodied foam

beneath the mist
and tendrils licking at
your hips

until you are
transformed to something
fixed and far away from me.