I feel fragile
as if I were
a truth that can’t be said
that trembling leaf
about to separate
from its branch

I am a churning mass
that wants to take shape
but can’t pace to the passing
of life’s implacable motion

I am the constant
crushing wave
that can’t stay
in one place
push pull
rise lull
never content
for longer than a spasm
a breath, a drink, a fully belly
an orgasm
the hunger returns
relentlessly
I desire
again
and again
to merge into him
shadow lover
protector persecutor
while I habitually escape
getting too close
avoidant of all reflection
of his grace
I always yearn to hold
his beautiful face
against my innermost space

Touch is too frightening
if he clamps my wings
with thick fingers
I may never fly again
awaiting helplessly
the end
and yet
holding up the mirror
those are my hands
there are no wings
all touch is empty

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