The Reader

i’ll be an open book
while you remain to be spread so thin
you cannot be seen horizontally 
in this vertical world. 

there has come so much from so little
-a look, a word, a moment, a thought, a memory-
that i have found it impossible to rephrase how each
has drove me wild from deciphering the motion of them
to an unimaginative mind.

love from love
can all unravel again from the same moment
and leave you thoughtless and without time.
oh-don’t be too careless!
years later, it will find you..
winding itself around you again,
swelling the cavities inside your chest,
causing them to chafe the ribs and muscles
of your rib cage
(my heart flutters in a panic, pulsing harder
as it tries to break free from my even-tempered body.
let me out, let me out, it says. let me escape this thickness washing over me,
and then i can show you, she bargains).

hold fast, disciplined body. you have fought this long,
you can hold out.
and so, for tonight, i leave this furious passion at the door.
these trampled definitions of snapshots in time
can wait until another day when love seems to half-hazzardly 
stumble over our weak attempts at plans and projections.