in whose absence did you become water?

clear and cool in small amounts, at close range,
playful, reflective; but
farther down, where there is more to carry,
increasingly opaque and indefinite.

for miles, miles, down,
under the impenetrable pressures of the unsaid,
unfelt, unseen, unyet; unyielding. here, gravity outrivals chronology. but,

can we not help the ways in which we are composed?

you, built of intentions, oblique to any archetype,
you, eyes of ocean,
hands like tides

you,
coming to my table with one hundred empty bowls and a noble attempt
to hide your hunger.

i watch you deciding where to position your appetite.
divining truths from suitcases, matchbooks,
photographing your houseplants.
what is the right amount to care for someone you hardly know?
someone who claims to be capable of tender harm?

i have portions of emptiness, too.
this bowl is my predilection; this glass, my resolve.
here: my aptitude, my fear of failure.
tonight, i want to be full of you. so
meet my eyes when you tilt your pitcher.
then,
show me the bowl of your ache, the cups of your misgivings, and
in turn, i will fill what you let me.

in the half-dark, replete glass resonates.
my fingers draw slow circles
around the openings of your body
until it sings.

resist the urge
to cover what we’ve collected
aren’t even the stillest of waters still breathing?
expose yourself to air. make space for the dissipation of
truths that no longer serve you. do not mourn those vapors.
it’s a lightening, not a loss.

to let evaporations tell your story
disregards your depths,
diminishes your vastness.

so move your tidal hands over me
with the sureness
of someone lighter than before. and be afraid, if you are. but
don’t tie stones to your fear.

desire only complicates truth
if we let it.

02/06/2019

Author's Note: e.n.

Posted on 02/06/2019
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