two nights ago i dreamed of you
telling me that if i wanted you to make love to me,
all i had to do was vocalize it.
and you made that sound so simple.
i want to love you so badly
that the feeling spreads in waves
into the valleys of me, tsunami to my indonesia
crashing violent and all-encompassing over my shores,
splashing my shoes.
i want to wash you in my affection
and pat you dry with my longing.
i want to muddy you with my need–
i want to love you without it drowning you, too,
because one of us submerged in this is too many as it is.
i stand next to you and keep my arms around myself
for fear that i grow too large in my love
and will break every dam i have erected,
storm all the walls between us and carry us both somewhere unknown–
i fear your noticing even the steady drip of it
trickling out of my eyes and ears and mouth.
i want to be strong like you,
and love you from afar–
i want to not need to be close,
i want not to burn and blister when your fingers leave my skin
for whiter sands;
i want to come to you in months
aloof, cool, collected
and without the scars from this battle lingering where you can see them.
i do not want you to know how hard i am fighting
because i never wanted to be a soldier in the first place and you knew it.
i want you to touch me months from now
and not feel the tremor that shakes me–
not to know i am a natural disaster tearing up my own land
without your gravity to hold me in check.
i want to be your marble statue,
the perfect lover attached by only the thinnest threads
instead of these netted ropes and vines–
but i am as new and unhardened as modeling clay
and far less malleable.
i can’t be your moonlight tryst;
i am too much the sun.