if you leave me

i imagine the blood moving
shaking like a pedal drum being beaten for all its worth.
thump, thump, each beat an inch further
from the heart, an inch closer to the edges
of the body's natural environment.
external forces throw rhythm to the wind, my body
caught breathless and struggling to keep up:
there is suddenly such a great need
for blood in the body,
to feed the fingertips and
quench the famished cells of the skin,
and the veins scramble to keep up.
expansion, explosion of the pathways to shove
ever greater amounts of life through,
rhythm running off with consequence and building walls
of brick to make the platelets stumble.
each day is such a struggle,
each beat that comes in time such a surprise.

i've never doubted fire before
but there is a yearning to be clean now,
a desire for that stark bright skin--
when i set it all up in flames
i thought i could wipe myself clear of you,
thought the flicker of my hatred
would purge my heart and body.
i guess the burning was incomplete,
left you too many handholds and stairsteps
to climb back inside of me,
roost or perch there like some vulture,
and when i love you again,
maybe i will call you a phoenix instead.

new growth on top of stunted vines,
taking strides where yesterday's work was retracted:
it is a long road, i cannot see the end.
in my heart
there is a bramble lying dead,
with grey and brittle branches reaching
towards the pulse,
seeking life and spitting out buds
while i debate if the little green leaves
should be snipped back, pruned up,
should live or die.
while i debate, you are steady working now,
an iron forged progress that tastes like salt
(because i have cried too much)
and runs like water
(because the pipes burst with the frost).
new growth that threatens the equilibrium of
letting dead things lie:
you reach tentacles around my wrists,
keep me from pruning that which will kill itself.

there's this little pinch at the end of the day,
the end of a day which includes your eyes
and arms and breadth, again.
a little reminder that tries to surface,
who are you? and where do you belong?
as if it isn't enough to be content, or comfortable,
i must also analyze where the comfort comes from.
you are, you are, you are,
something i have remembered since i was small,
the contents of a room left undisturbed for years
and a break in the beat of my heart.