atimetowait

For so long I have kept myself all down under.
Quelling that hunger, I learned in small portions.
Deepened fasts, righteousness, nauseous to change.

When I got that bite of you, I knew I needed more.
Obsessive like I—

You told me to go deeper. . .

And what that beast inside of my chest would do to you, is your want.
You say this season’s harvest is bountiful. That I should come inside,
I had been playing in the garden dirt for too long..

Our feast is your undoing, and that gnawing of you is just growing more, but now. I know not only of your lifeblooded, lilac scents. But why you chase the drawn out nature of pleasure that has been each of our safeties.

If I save it for tomorrow,
If it ——
I can just stay still. No.

I want you now.
And you still tell me to go deeper.
So I do.
And I count down from ten.

Still having to start over again —— from ten. It became twenty. A minute, two. After hours, a day passed by. Five of them. A whole week, next. Fifty-two of them all —— a year. My longest was five? It had been several…

And when I finally break, and that dirt is calling my name again.
Back at the Garden, underneath now.
You asked me, “Why isn’t the hole deeper?”
That six feet is still “not enough to fit my depth.”

You dug the rest, and ——
Asked if you would take me with you.
There would be room for two, now.

Naively or not, you jumped first.
Who am I to dissuade the trust you own?
You push your fingers against my lips, and in an audible, hushed coo.

My doubts seem to sink away…yours meet mine.
The dirt caves over, and I’m reminded of the first time an I love you was muttered.
One we still fight over for who said what first,
Now… I guess that’s what eternity is.

Being able to have the time to recount all the moments, all the reasons, off all the basis of who said what, ‘first’.
And still, with naivety and all.

It’s been yours to say from the start, if it were up to me.

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