I try not to write poems about you.
Or about my feelings for you.
I think it would make you uncomfortable, or it would be cheesy and not say what I want succinctly enough.

But here I am. This warm air full of pre-storm
coaxing my sensitivity outwards.
Mate - if it makes you feel strange, that's okay.

If it scares the shit out of you - 
good.

I feel that too.

If it stops you from leaping into the void,
though - 
if that fear cripples you
and you never grow into willingness -
if you pause on the outskirts of pain and 
sit without reaching to know the wild that lives and dies on the other side of your threshold,
if you burrow deep into the snow - 
that's okay; do what you will.

Though,


the will
that flickers bright and deep in your eyes,
arcs, glinting, from your dynamic expression -

that will yearns, love. It reaches, 
from the base of your sternum it uncoils, grows, 
its maw wide and sight blind, 
wanting food.
It needs a feast. Of blood, fear, pain, desire.
It needs freedom to flourish, claw, emaciate and shrivel to the brink of oblivion -
it will not tolerate to be held stale and grey and neutral.


Taste the depth
when deepdrinking
from sacred vessel.

That flavour is known,
blood is magnetized to it,
danger and wonder is buried
within a complex cassoulette.

And coiled within you is that 
visceral joy
that you are so ready to withdraw from.

That is okay.

Whatever form
finds its food

whatever flavour strains back at you, 
arched and warm or
tepid and taciturn

that is up to you, you know, that old thing - 
do what you will.


And I will
remember
from time to time,
the hunger
and the bared-teeth truth; 
an unabashed fire fuelled by breath and flesh

whatever you choose

That is okay, too. I love you. 






Last night I dreamt I was trying to catch a strange, wide snake that had escaped in a house where I was staying. I had provoked it earlier. It went into the master bedroom, then back out. It came into the kitchen where [we] were all seated around the table - [we] got up, tried to find out a way to catch it. I came back with 2 brooms, another broom had been seized to attempt some sort of control method. It was irritated, it grew wider and almost like the shape of a cat. As I tried to hit/direct/catch it, grabbing it with two hands(?), it bit me. Maybe 4-6 times. On the hands and lower arms. Snake punctures, I knew I was in danger but I also knew I would be okay - some medicine, or doctor, or something was close enough by. I think I tried to break its neck, but it wouldn't work. It survived(?), we (saved it?) and put it somewhere 'safe'. I was lucid. Can't remember what happened next though.