You will bury Her somewhere
Far beneath your own foundations;
Foundations on which you will build
Straight and narrow towers.
You will reach and rake at the clouded sky.
Your worship of absent futures
Will give you less than a reason to climb
And more than an excuse to jump.
You will not, but not for fear of heights,
Rather, the far more damning fate:
She might catch you falling out of love.
Most of you will one day forget
She was there at all,
Buried,
Forming crystals from your Earth.
You will lose Her somehow,
Deep within your endless capacities;
Capacities to forgive, and to forget
This teenage fever dream.
You will tame desire for your distraction,
And keep a manicured tulip garden:
Tall stalks and petals of hardened flesh,
Saturated with seduction, among other lies.
I know you dread Her eagerness
That you should know your truth.
But the dread will ease and the questions follow
And when Her fists, twisting in your throat and gut,
And Her name, bubbling against the inside seam of your lips,
Slips out in a kiss,
Quieter than whispers
And louder than you’ve ever shouted,
It will be then.
Lost,
Until you allow yourself to claim Her.
