I need from you,
but I have forgotten how this feels—
to move my hands and form the words that the fingers
have been biting back.
Was it night? Was it
sleep I needed?
Was there ever any answer to find
in the vastness and the whirl of words and the magnificent follies?
I walked away from
you. I have no need of
you. I cannot grasp
onto the meaning of a linear fling
when I want to cling—ankles, legs, arms and neck and breath,
but I curl into a ball.
