(too soon) my new hot love, truer and vast
My head is strafed with thoughts of her; my heart is a weapon. She is a reverberating bell; she is the only one in any crowded room. If only my eyes were cameras to record her movements, her eyes; if I could see her eyes now, now, and then, and ever. She would grab me by the throat and push me against things. She is smoke and I glass, she is in and all, in and all around me.

My heart is a weapon warring for her against guilt, license and awe. My heart is a machine as cradled. If only paper were thunder I would have my battle cry. I would throw everything I have against her fences until my body breaks or they do -would, don't.

I don't and don't and don't.

She is reverberating; she is tensile. She is smoke and she is solid. She is solid as continents, shifting stone and soil, slow illusion. She is a gone world and my hands long to draw her out, draw her in. Old maps are drawn with devotion: she is the work of years and I want to start.

I want to start.