Differently, Say More

The winds of your walk
do not disturb even a wing-ed ant
from its stroll beneath a windowsill
but I feel them always
pulling round corners and halls
shafting under doors
and through unseen cracks
and now—ruthless:

they thrashed and beat upon my side
thick with heat
you sunlit thing

my composure downed in a swift gulp
spread coolness through your chest
a coolness dismissed;
perhaps you were not even parched
but sunlit things drink
and, sunlit, you drank

and then, your voice
ice water threshed
onto once evenly-blooded cheeks
it ran into my collar
a tickling itch
but itch I could not
your questions were blinding


perhaps I should have asked your name
perhaps you would have said it differently
you say everything differently
oh, differently, say more:
a phrase
a word
a syllable

scorch my brow a short while longer
the wind is no trouble, I’ll tie my hair
I’ll temper to the shock of your voice
and care not how my cheeks feel to the touch
as long as the touch is

yours I am not
and yet I am not my own


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