Updated: Sep 1, 2019
I like you stupidly and all over.
Relentless is the thought persistent, even if
I don’t want to want you,
there is never any room for negotiation.
So I trace your name on the bareness
of my skin like an old story, a repeating song,
a primordial chant, veiled in the visceral,
shrouded in the ephemeral,
reminding us of the earth’s rhythm,
the magnetic fields, and the dance
inbetween that pulls us out from these
heavy shells, revealing the small
glimmering glimpses and slivers of our souls.
Do we not know what we have become?
The algorithmic progression, the pendulum of time,
the heat generated from the potential of energy,
the very power of release?
I cannot help but imagine our souls
as mere molecules, protons and ions, forming
charged bonds emanating from the sun.
I cannot help but imagine we are
the migrating lines traced in the sky,
where birds fly south for winter.