a mouth full of amen

This is what it is
to wake up with bones
full of want: a snake
of desire for a spine,
each rib a bottomless need,
hip bones full
of yes, skin flushed
full apocalypse.

This is hands
like a rosary, each finger
a prayer, kneeling
with a mouth full
of amen, body lit up
like light
through stained glass.

This is the unraveling
of polite, all wine
drunk, all gasp,
the graze of salt
on a tongue,
the way even the riverbeds
surrender to fire,
how the sharp breath of a name
can burn it all down—
and leave you grateful,
coiled, and curious
for more.

Le cœur a ses raisons que la raison ne connaît point*

Because I have swallowed silence
as perfect as a thousand empty forests,
all bark and no bird.

Because sometimes
I try too hard,
but I don’t know how
to stop—I don’t know
the curve of the word
less.

Because I am lost
and leave you breadcrumbs
in a place
no fool would ever follow,
not out of habit,
but out of hope.

Because I don’t know how
to ask the right questions,
so I say nothing.

Because I can say
I miss you
in three different languages,
and I love you
in five—one of which
uses no words.

Because I want
and that is the beginning
and end of everything.

 

 

*Title from Blaise Pascal.