You asked me earlier, is this all there is? I don’t know. I want for something deeply too—like it’s something physical. I keep finding myself

walking into rooms. The way you do when you need something from it. But when I arrive, I can’t remember why I’m there or what I needed. So, I turn around

and go back to where I started. Sometimes it helps and other times it doesn’t. Either way, I’m going back and forth and wearing down the carpet. I can’t be sure

what’s distracting me—the lighting in the space or the blankness of my intentions. All I know is I’m leaving empty-handed

or holding things I didn’t come for. I don’t remember what I need, I don’t remember anything. I know

I don’t want to leave the house without it. Please, don’t let me leave the house without it.

and I told you it’s because I am a terribly wanting type of person. I want to be soaked to my shoes. I want to bear cold shoulders and compare everything to the rain. I want to make metaphors for all of the people who blew into town and wrecked my plans.

Let me be mad and unequipped and small. Let my clothes be drenched like they stand for something meaningful. This is what you do when you have nobody to tie your shoes. You go looking for things to put you in your place and teach you about humility.

You want to yell into the big looming thing and hear your name clapped back in thunder. You want your tantrum to be matched. You want your tantrum to be matched in a big beautiful tempest.

wrapped in naked sheets of gauze
the week draining away—
I slept too close to the edge again

my face half pillowed, muffled
you pinned and pummeled
my aching shoulder with a massage gun

I moaned like a ghost, we laughed at my pain
you couldn’t feel it yet
but you were thick with dawn

we always knew you loved me
you must have made a decision
to become available—that day

I felt a gentle shift in the bed
as you laid down the gun
and fell into years