He said it so sweetly,
rugged and innocent,
and I was so moved
I almost missed the message,
caught by the realness
of his voice,
air moving through his heart and lips
to my vibrating ears.
Almost missed it
coming from her embrace,
the stranger I had feared,
until I crumbled
to sob briefly on her shoulder,
held by the ironic grief
of two who know happiness.
Almost missed it
in my own words
spoken back with love,
channelled by my teacher and my friend
as a gift to the room
and me quavering in it.
Almost missed it
in my google search for dance,
looking for local invitations
and finding traces
of my own presence
in movement long past.
Almost missed it
in the voices on the phone,
my loves reaching out
to offer solace
and ask for my help
when I rose
oiled and trembling
from my own wallowing.
He said
“I hope you get what you need”
and it wasn’t until much later
that my emptiness
was filled
no satiation, just this deep dive
into unrequited love,
a writhing in my own juice,
a tenderness of wanting.
All these years
of trying to get what I need
by keeping need at bay,
tending a candle in an empty room
and now I sit
at a feast
of my own sacred greed,
savouring aroma
without gorging,
the kid in the marshmallow test
who actually wants one
but understands timing,
grateful for yearning.
This fire is not just pubic,
not only creative,
not only the bright ether
connecting space between planets,
not only my passionate call
for yet more hugs
and new flavours on my tongue
it is a soul fire
that has been waiting
for a body to burn in,
sized to lick at my edges
from the inside,
beyond a need for finite fuel,
no dousing possible.