As if she were something opened
True desire is when your whole being is soaked in the image of your desire and you cannot see the difference between your desire and the physical world around you.
As if she were something opened,
exposed to immeasurable space
she lines the walls with herself—
desire between the window panes and flush
against the outlet-plate screws.
I know from her, it is a haphazard embodiment—
She doesn't know how to be the room.
she is the house.
I love her. She is the house. I am among others.
She is the house. It matters only as much
as it matters. She is the house.
She is the house opened up to the sky.
And the people? Perpetually stationed
at the mailbox and signposts
waiting for rain, or maybe a tornado
and we are taking bets on what comes first and
who will last.