you have a hatchet where a mouth should be

your words slice like paper cuts

hewn with glass

I watch you beneath the paperweight of the world

surging, falling, surging

and I want to taste you anyways

even as you break me into pieces

and reassemble beneath your cold gaze.

There seems, in that moment, nothing more necessary

than devoting myself to your whim

you are silver in my veins, a wild fahrenheit

nothing tames the madness of my desire

save a starving belief

you can be ridden

for I knew an untame horse once

came to me when I stretched my hand out

and let him smell my breath in cold air

he recognized then, a sympatico

and bending his long neck to me

let me flee alongside his urgency

to be without and within

alone and not lonely

we said nothing then

just felt the tear of wind

against our flanks

the sky reaching earth indivisibly

2 Replies to “Fahrenheit”

  1. Anciently, the Greeks put desire in the hands of a little boy with a bow and arrows. Nice, for them, but to know desire as a wild horse inviting you to ride, both untamed …

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