it’s crimson-soft like velvet
thrumming, steady–a heartbeat
low and slow, gradually building
the tension, hammering hollow and sharp
that’s when I risk a fall so far
I can feel my stomach drop
when the bruised yearning turns
blue and grey and silver
shifting from hot to cold
it hurts the most
(the ache of the unjust)
I know what it feels like
to want with my whole body
stretched taught
I know what it smells like
(the hot sting of sulphur)
it must be strong enough
to carry me over the worst parts
the dawn sun behind
a haze of fog