the aftermath

i come to you, foolishly, wisely
asking for change.

you drop a silver coin in my hand, saying
“such as this you will become.”

and the tremors begin.

i want to be brave. to be righteous.
to be untainted, to be free.

to love, to know and be known.

to mingle my soul with yours.

but it seems that the hellish traces of my fractured self
can only be burned away and consumed
by the most harrowing of fires
with a gravity and smoke
that crushes the spirit
at least for 24 hours

and it starts now.

i’ve dragged the blackness into my lungs
and tumbled far beyond any normal human’s reach.

i’ve marred myself
and you in the process.

and still here,
in a tangled heap
where tears melt and freeze
in disconcerting polarization
i crack under the pressure

a faint draft cools my tongue
a whisper, a sliver of hope rushes forth
and i see the muddied stars crashing and birthing and exploding overhead
and i think i trust you through the process.

i want you to brush the hair out of my eyes
and peer beyond the mortared defenses
and deep into my shame and wounds
with clarity and grace.

i want to feel your arms enfolding my neck
and the small of my back
while our breath mixes and blends
in silent intimacy
and you,

never loosening your grip on me.