‘Unanswered, Bared, Where?’

You stole me from this house,

to find home,

find heat,

in this hearth.

but we didn’t know

that you are the heat,

and I am the wintered hands

and you sound like cracks in the cusp

of the flickering tendrils

that hold my face

in firefly fervour.

I look at carpets,

couches and stone parking lots,

coated with hope and despair,

and beg for something

that I cannot have,

cannot even begin to imagine to have.

how can I find home

if I’ve never been in one?

how can I give myself to you

if I am only half present?

how can anyone love this?

I stand behind a counter,

hello, how are you,

anything I can do for you?

and hope to find your face

behind all of it,

no longer hope for home,

but hope for the fire

that ignites my bones

and shatters this cold in my claws.

how do I balance

this dichotomous heart?

fly too close and burn,

or

swallow my hurt and spurn?

where is entry to peace?

why do I call for answers

when I know how this ends?

1/28/19

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