Lost

Avoid it so long—
this longing hidden
like something to be ashamed of
like the skin
always hidden
white under a strap
of a proper black bathing suit,
everything around you tan and golden
from the full exposure to the sun,
but this longing stays covered
bright white and pure
as the untouched skin of a child.
No hungry hands to defile the silent waiting.
Only the stillness of nothing
but this longing. . .
avoiding it if you can.

What do you give away to be lost
in this longing—
to disappear into the black centers
of eyes and find yourself
lost there in the dark,
terrified and consumed
by desire?

Cast your line
over and over again
into the endless ocean of no promise
that can ever be fulfilled
and be satisfied
with retrieving
each empty hook—
each easy retreat
into a new beginning.

Maybe this is what happens
as the soul starts to recognize herself
in the mirror behind the human face.
She looks deeper into the darkness for relief,
running her hands blindly
on the edge of love—
not minding the smooth blade
of the truth as it cuts deeply,
letting the blood spill,
real, onto the floor
of this empty slate.

Get lost here
swimming in the tides
of wanting,
gasping for breath
as you surface
look toward the horizon,
the rescue ship no where to be found,
no island to wash up on
as this midnight castaway.