I want so badly to feel
not just know
the life living within me.
Cells of my heart,
what makes you stay
and stick
and love
in such efficient harmony?
What are the series of
coincidences
constructed into miracles
by some invisible hand
to let you be?
What are you, how are you?
To drop and fall into one
pulse
compelling me, luring me
to breathe, breathe
even under the anaesthetic of sleep.
I crave to know
how my body cups my soul
in a mirrored glass and not
a casket
or cage, if I wish.
And why the soul cries
even so,
so
I speak
to the ever and ever lying beyond the sky.
I ask
Please?
Dreams break and vows break
but don’t let
my heart break
into me.
It is living.
And I don’t yet know
what that means.