Nothing is Wrong - After Hayes

I will wrap hands around you from the edges of my frayed
>jaw to your hair. Your thistle skin pressed thin
through the dark creases in my fingers.

The first time I held you, I jerked awake and saw that you were the Oklahoma morning air, and oatmeal with my mother, and I knew I’d come full circle. Now, my word hands will fold the world, push my humidity next to your Mexico dust.

I want in increasing desperation. No one will ever come after me to grow,
but you chose to. It’s time to learn why, with my teeth, with the calluses
on my palms.

I don’t know why I have this last name and who my grandfather was. I
think he sits by the side of a campfire in my few and far between dreams.
Boy who was me, I have found a way to fold lightning into my palms and
give it away, so stop climbing around in your bed.

I still remember the day I flung a belt around my neck, stared at the blood
flecked walls, tried too hard. Amante, restore me to health, please, restore
me to health with your legs. I’m going crazy in this room. The lights are inside
of my skin now.

I want to drop my sails into a heartbeat ripple. I am the waves which are
pushed along your legs. Amante, you are mine. You were mine the day you
picked strawberries on hands and knees and I wanted to bury fingers into your
veins.

She pushed her tongue into my spine and told me I wanted an ocean. It was
the most control I could give her. I want her to have more.
Amante, I want you to be a part of me. I am the waves pushing up your legs into
mine, in heat desperation, in heat lightning, crackling.