this bright corner of my heart
in the shape of your spirit and your words
does not waver; it shines even while
i condition myself to
lose something i have not yet gained.
i feel sluggish, ill-used, but
the blood that does make it up that slope
continues to burnish your image:
you shine like copper in the sun,
warm, metallic, heavy.
i taste metal on my tongue from
the circulation of you in my veins.
when i do not succeed--
when i am too young, too strict,
too demanding or too callous,
when i am not the one you want--
the brightness will burn out, nitrous and fiery,
but the taste of your carbon will remain.