two poems (Patreon)

Someday someone will live here with medesired the desiring girl desirereminded me I’d always beenher pink and awe-scored kneeskissing tiles on heaven's floordesiring only her capacity to desirethe fizzy altered state of the desirewhich makes all instances profoundeverything is moving towardseverything is here becauseperception unperceived ohdesired in the flat that perfect homely absencethat space for traveling fantasya conversation vortex makingevery moment worth existing in itstension to be filledprecious damsel too desiresthe textured blankness of the wallswhich ‘hold’ her to her lone which ‘keep’ her in her lone.....universe holds hat above headsays break your ankles jumping.....desired again to watch that movie played in bed where station-sidehis little husband head pops out from undergroundand breaks apart in springThresholdersBumblebee in the flat, the year's been a wreck.The last time I mingled with your kind I was still my mind and not the watcher of it, still called myself shame, still thought the only thing worth being was clever (easier than surrender to the nothing that I know).I met your ancestors last pink spring. My eyelids were heavy then. When they spilled in from the yard, dazed like you,I domed them in a glassand sent them on their way.Now I’m fine to scoop you up with hands and hold.Not much scares me anymore. I’ve been using my realpersonality with strangers.My heart, once a red fist,has opened to its own ecstasy and swings behind me in a bindle,waves madly down life’s moonlit highway, teases oncoming cars.I learned the chest lurches were only bids to be caughtand love isn’t something that can be disappearedbut a force like the sky, or a part like a cell.Bumblebee in the flat,oh fluffy orb, oh agent of impossible flight, I went to move you back across the threshold with lovewhen you burst from my handto slam again against the raised pane, frustration at a fever pitch, the buzzingof my heart. I see myself.Surrender to the world not straight ahead,but under, and out. Glass wings go quiet as nightand you are a little memory.Now you can freely fallasleep along the lips of bruised violets.I wonder into what strangeness you'll bloom.I wonder if you’ll wake up gold.