Thinking about how many times
I've almost bought it,
one of the few time stamps
I am able to track
through the years
that tell me
it really has been a contiguous trip
from then 'til now,
I am impressed
with the part of me I do not know
well enough to sit down and share
a few cups of coffee with
because I will be damned
if I have not tried,
consciously and otherwise,
to wipe him from the face of this Earth
like a bad tattoo
showered in laser light.
I know someday I will
have him in a moment he has slept on
and I will tuck a sterling fork
into his eye socket and pluck
tender white fruit that will
run down my throat
like a gently salted soft boiled dumpling. I will be
a wolf in a pen of fleecy thoughts
before the light
and after the ghost, leisurely
like cumulonimbus on a form fit hillock
with no hint of thunder or rain
to be spoken, smelled, or seen
between sky spanning beams of
ocean and baby blues and a
dry eyed orb of sun
draining into the horizon and
the promise of moon rise whispering
into the fade and starfall, and I
will be able to love
the tastes and scents of myself
in ways I never could
while I breathed.
However there are still
many things yet to do
by heart song and blood flow
and so
I do not expect my will
to succumb to the impetus of
transformation and I will cry,
not knowing where the boundary hides,
where the threat of self annihilation ends
and the fence begins, but I sigh
swooning against pursuit and the heady clutching
for a tenth life
in a space I am not sure actually exists
beyond the end of the line.
