Who ?

[xunpredictablel]

i desire the cold.
the lack of warmth wrenches my
pure bones , and it makes me
realize that perhaps, perhaps
someone prefers the cold
as much as i do,
out there .

will he whisper to me ?
whisper like the trees and the sky
as they lean down to kiss my
cheekbones with their
sharp kisses?
will his secrets satiate
my lust for everything
that lacks understanding?

will he represent my
skeleton ? my core that is
purely bone ? will he
quietly speak of horrifying things
from horrifying books from
horrifying authors ? will he
recite endless verses of poetry
that seeps over me like
too-thick honey?

can he understand my desire
for knowledge i have not
attained? will he teach me ?
will his words float over me like
clouds , cleansing the black
burns on my skin ?
will he blanch me ? remind me of
the white , the innocence , within
my own soul?

will he crash down upon me with
an angel's touch? will he be
unafraid of my aggression and passion?
will his wretched lips crush my wretched lips
in a manner so similar
to my brethren ?
will he call me a wolf ; that i deserve to
run, free and wild amongst the trees
that parented me ? will he
whisper bittersweet lullabies of
goodbyes as i leave ,
always a few more days longer than
the last?

will he stand at the door ? will he
build me a cabin filled with
little herbs and medicines and can we
live like Thoreau ? can we live like
we were meant to? will the logs be
bright, dark brown and beckoning
the darkness, honing it inward to where we
will be ? because neither of us are afraid-
the darkness is our brethren all the same.

will he light a lantern as i am gone
to lead me back home to him?
will his words soar on the currents
of wind, reaching my ears like
a ghost? can he lure me,
seductively ,
back into his arms to lay another
moment,
another instant
before i run , run again?

will he sear all my little cuts with
a stick of fire , sewing them
closed with matches that light my
skin like his fingertips ?
can he wrench me back from my
wonderworld , bring me closer
to reality , but not all the way
into the puzzle ?
will he let me live , but also let me
die ?

will he let me be a child ? can i run
in too-long skirts outside, screaming
and jumping and reveling in the
life that people take far too
seriously ? will he understand
that my tempting ways are
to assure my
status ?
will his fingertips trace maps
into my skin , so i can follow
them and find out who i was
really meant to be ?

will he be a mirror ?
a perfecter image of me ?

or at least let him realize
realize
realize
that i cannot be
a bird with no wings .