near to speaking--
perched on the edge of (what is probably
destruction, what could be redemption, what is definitely
discomfort) cogent sentences--
words like a cliff to jump off of,
thoughts like a quarry to delve into--
near to speaking, my heart in its jumble of wants
stops dead, shivering, stalling.

my equilibrium is weighted,
swayed to the side of emotions and desires
that are multifaceted at best,
spiritual starvation at worst.
oh half of me begs the question, wants to be
your helpmeet, your servant, your drawer of wellwater,
your woman in a secret pool who dips
one long limb at a time,
whose skin is sacred and whose words are psalmic.
half of me roils, raging, pulsating,
lurking and seeking that opportunity to pillage;
your trusting heart, your concluded mind
will be barren once i am through.
how could you think i would be less?
why should you imagine i could be more?

it would be a mistake for you
to think that you know me, now.