Like insects’ pheromones,
Or the surgical lights that glow so provocatively at night.
Or maybe it’s more like the dream,
where we gouge a deep, deep wound
into the flesh of the Earth
until we reach Her very center.
And, upon seeing that,
God gets mad and scrambles our language.
Then You look back up at me
the way You look at me
when I tell a joke You don’t find funny,
the way You look at me
when I tell You the only difference between You and a gauze,
is the softness.
The way You look at me
that hurts the deepest.
I wish You’d just
shrug and take it, knowing we got what we deserved.
I wish You’d just
smile at me, even for just a second.
I wish You’d just
do something.
Anything.
Don’t just stare,
with those eyes that slice
me open like a scalpel.
WILDsound Writing Festival 