You thrum through my veins like newfound poison.
Sleep is drawing my eyes shut, but a slow thrill is coursing through me
Languorous. A word you can roll around your tongue.
Something is blossoming slowly, in a soil I thought entirely dry, entirely parched
There is a cresting, a surging. My fingers have found new music.
What a strange song you are. So unlikely, so distant, so devastating.

There is silk to the rustle of time.
There is dew in the mouth of life.
There is gravel in the wind's sigh.

You're doing to me what spring does to the blade of grass hiding beneath the rock.
You're doing to me what summer does to the kite's flight.
You're turning me into Neruda's cherry trees.

Stop shaking me awake. I'm afraid of what I will find.
Don't stop waking me. I'm afraid of what I will forfeit.

Let me open. Unfold like a ear of corn, like the morning glory, like the mogra and the chameli.

Let me, oh let me dance with this stolen glance.

Let me steal this wayward kiss

Let my lips brush against your destiny

Let me learn how to burn again.
In your raucous silence, let me, oh let me find my name again.