I hope she’s just here for the tea
the people i love the most:
ephemeral visions that flicker
faintly before my eyes,
before my eyes have time,
time to dilute the reasons,
the anathema their silence issues
upon a shattered husk of self.
their boundaries, their reasons
are many but few:
i melt, disappear,
long to squirm my worm self
into the crevices between dreams.
the harshness of forgetting,
of sifting through selves
shattered by the frosts of discontent
wearied by the heat of demand.
to contain with small hands
the only treasure i secrete
the purest gift, the only thing,
and i, the steady bee spitting it out
filling your bellies with warmth and laughter
until my comb runs dry.
but you do not see me.
a husk, a hollow self,
a blasé repetition of dim utterances.
the ones i love, i cannot touch
they stretch across the sky
like moon-planets, massive and circling my world
i cannot rip myself wide enough
to embrace them in my arms.
but one day
when you see my veins split the sunrise
my skin stretched over the universe
then you will know i have found a home