From the moment I feel that spark
in the palm of your hand and let it
run over the bone of my hip, I am placed in a
euphoria that drags along with me for months and
years.
It keeps me awake at night and clouds my focus
during the conference calls, bathroom breaks, and
monotonous drives home. It puts me to sleep as I stand
over the boiling pot of spinning webs.
I can feel every stroke of your finger across my face, my thoughts of it.
I am trapped in my memory and longing for the silence
of water falling from the showerhead as I drink you
in over and over.
It makes my heart flutter and pound and fumble to catch its breath. It makes my mind start and
stop and sputter like a Chrysler with no battery. I hold it quietly around my middle, to
protect me from the emptiness of acceptance.
This is a dirty trick of an imbalanced mind. It is not the very real experience and longing that I try to compress with this very unhelpful, old washcloth.
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