Rustling
Like any other animal.
The one antlered dear so near society.
The Scrub Jay in the Scrub Oak.
And I, running like some mammal with half a heart
(It beats brilliantly when complete):
Slowly, contemplatively, considering each step
(What if this is my last step?)
I’m wrestling.

What I want is to be contained.
To be pinned down, defined;
Placed in an air-tight container
with no escape for my spirit to seep through.
Because currently I am everywhere.
I am not a body with appendages,
But flagrant emotion dancing wildly.

Please, contain me?

I believe in God.
I believe in hope.
I believe in wishing.
I believe in someday.

I'm not used to being optimistic.
It's actually not so bad.

I watch quietly as all these stories collide interminably and they seem menacing. And my story sits silently, just letting the music bleed through me; the way coffee stains cheap napkins on patio furniture in the city. Or how you seem to effortlessly melt into my body.

And it moves me.

I’m bare.

My secrets are worn clean.

Drift wood drifting,

Smooth and honest;

An itinerant with misplaced wants and needs.

Until suddenly swept from the sea,

To be placed on your mantel;

For your benefit, your pleasure, your greatest desire.

Perched there, I am finally set free.

If this was a moment,
if moments were real;
I would touch her leg
and lick her chest.
I would cover her in spit.
And if this was a moment
I would never let her go,
and I would honestly be happy
and never let her go.

I want to save everyone.
...But maybe I'm the one who needs the saving...