CONFESSIONS part three
failed poems, autumn 2025
If it could all be summed up–
the sunlight indistinguishable from the place it warms
Its end completes its beginning
my/its touch on its/my body
When I dance, the space rearranges itself
to let me in. So lucky to have felt warmth
front and back.
How can I admit: it’s to experience it all, at first,
until it isn’t. Once touching, bodies wholly crystallize into becoming
inextricable. This kind of desire renders lifetimes spent breathless,
reverberates tenfold, and not enough time to make it mean something.
Tell me there is another way
than to feel it all temporarily
or to become bored by its recurrence.
Tell me there will be nothing else to get over,
that it will all remain, gracelessly unfinished, forever.