Pins and needles

Wreak havoc over my town,
windows shatter,
shards cutting life into streets.
Damage all goods for I am
damaged goods -
who is to say the bumps and bruises won’t let the prices go through the roof
that your storm took -
I always liked
rain falling thickly with no barrier,
no inhibitions on everything I own,
the things I assembled
drenched and wet,
a perfect disaster that’s just like
this.

Your whirlwind is my song!
Siren, siren, siren -
when I scream, face first in the hurricane,
my eyes the eye of the storm
before it settles:
dust to dust,
earth filtered visions;
petrichor, now,
while hands grasp sand, bone dry,
and bones, dry and yearning for water
blue and consuming
in all their intensity, a completion that
feels just like
this.

I am so aware of you,
I couldn’t be more attuned to your beat even if I were the drum you are playing.
Spine thin backbone strong,
a stronghold of words
covered in cold and soothing, blue arrows,
heads turning, twisting in the air before
they hit -
sparking fires
in eyes that resemble amber and onyx
or the burning of the ocean’s heart
- isn’t it just the same -
a volcano under water spews heat into crystal waves
and creates
this.

My temperature could never resemble yours more,
and if I crawled underneath your skin
and made it mine,
inhabited every inch of your breathing,
made a home in the spaces between your fingers:
the valleys and mountaintops of certainty
that bear rays of sun
and darkest thunder,
fall silent in book-page prayers;
merchants of granting
soft and harsh, painfully nimble 
 — a sigh of lilacs on porcelain skin — 
it would feel just like
this.

This is a magnetic field
and I am pins and needles,
you numb me
in the best way possible;
I am ants crawling down your hands
and the flickering of the TV when it’s not tuned right — 
but we are never out of tune,
perfect triads
running up and down down and up again;
at the top, eyes seek nothing and everything,
everything and nothing
and one breath feels just
like
this.

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