touch your look on me
and leave my soul rippling-
You stir something within me that I don't know how to get out. It is mysterious yet familiar- a face you see every day but somehow can't place a name or purpose to. Your absence only intensifies it. Magma built up with no caldera to relieve the pressure. Do I go deeper, to the core? Do I push through until it all spews out, a cataclysm?
I don't know.
Poetry doesn't stir in me often anymore. Tonight is a rare mood. Something about the past several days sets me off. I like thinking about the future, but it is slow torture. I am Tantalus reaching for the grapes, but this punishment was made by no Olympian, but by my own heart reaching for what has yet to be. The catch, Catch-22, is that I possess the grapes, but only in some future time. I envy my future self, enjoying her days and nights with you, doing all those things that she does, dishwashing, wine-sipping, dancing, decision-making, onion chopping, with you.
That's all I really want.