I want to see where beauty comes from. I’d like to plant you ever so swiftly into my world. Hauling my heart to the place you make magic. Lost in translation, my pockets filling with flowers. Emptiness crept in. Absence still lingered in the brightness and body of every living thing. Every dark shadow, every glowing ambiance, every silent sound.

It was you. Finding you here seemed unimaginable, a lost cause. You are the great wonder of fall and the thirst for salt. You encompass the warmth, passion, and healing hands I long to hold.

When I finally understand that everyone fails at love at some point, as much as myself, I can’t help but wonder what will be left but ragweed, thistle, or the paper wings of a dragonfly?

If I’ve gotten the story right thus far, it’s that desire is continuous and reckless. Even still, there is so much I want to know: what you believe, what makes you smile, what hurts haunt you, what you dreamed in your youth, which self-acquired pleasures surfaced amidst your innocent childhood…

I want to know our story. I want to know what we meant to each other in our lives past.. Are we impetuous? Are we kind to each other? Do we surrender to what the mind cannot think past? Where is the evidence that I will learn to be nothing less than great to you? I desire to show you that real love does exist. I desire to show this to myself, too.

When we are face to face and I am too frightened to let go of my fears, I want you to know now how I am feeling, what I’m thinking. The moon overhead begins to peer through its blanket of clouds like a giant peach. I want to tell you how I adore the seriousness of your fingers and the way you fearfully repel yourself so far out of my reach. You may be quick to give your body to me but it is your heart that I’m after. I fall into a shallow ditch, tripping over my ghosts. My mind creates a fantasy of you, knuckles pale from the threshold of sheets, calling out my name like a vaulted secret. Here I stand in solitude, searching for the compass rose to help me live through this. Here I surfaced the discovery of truth, in which the incandescent blooms were still in the blindness of such longing.

I hunger for eloquence. I measure the isopleths. I visit my life with reckless plenitude. The air is flawless, fragrant and fireflies begin to turn on their electric wills. I plead with the night to let me come back whole, let me remember how to touch…how to touch you, before it’s too late. I want to be everything that you didn’t even know you wanted. Let it begin and you will see, I’ll race you till my last breath is drawn out of my lungs.

JMS