I Wait For You
with catechisms, rising from
cracks in the over-used parking lot.
I'm not sure of the cost of this anticipation,
staring at you like a sage stares through a window.
You come while I am in this gestation
and you coat my palms with your touch like hair conditioner,
smelling almost artificial.
I would like to eat you to see if you are real. I would like to seal you
in a jar, lick the tip and cliff of your prized Adam's apple.
You are here and talking, and your words are like lard lacing my tongue.
How I keep watching and waiting for you to use me, to pour me into
a small capsule, ingest me like a remedy. I have skin-dived
into a torrent wave for you, my creases and crevices drenched
in a salty fire. Weld me now fully to your form.
I can't remember what it was like to be converted.
I just remember this waiting, hearing you enter my house
when the cats are sleeping.
You are arriving again - this time, glacial, annihilating, gorging on
my submission. You pace my carpet with otherworldly steps. You come,
touching bookshelves, dog toys, the clothes I only wear in private.
I watch you from that carpet and continue paying my daily homage.
I am waiting to know your attachment, wanting
your warm fingers to conclusively enter. Give me this bond and
I will give up my agitation, give you