What do I want?

'what do I want?'
I ask myself,
eyes perched
upon a horizon
which somehow retains
a caged sameness
everyday

surfaces and edges
that clamor tirelessly
to camouflage the aliveness
that draws me in,
an invitation
to stand
on the sacred stage,
where life meets life
naked
all the time,

where what I feel
sets aflame
my insides,
stoking something
unknowable
unspeakable
to foreign eyes,
and a white hot desire
to live
and die to
the adventure
that is,
this one life.

Roots

and so that
my intricate world
can entangle with yours,
my veins of blood
can mix with yours,
my fragile walls
can crumble with yours,
my engraved lines
can smudge with yours,
my restless thoughts
can dance with yours,
I grow roots
into your heart,
your soul,
so I can feed
and feel mine,
for what are surfaces
but depths
into the pain
of our being,
waiting to be met,
explored,
and loved.

Surfaces

the map of one's destiny
in the lines of the palm,
the clutch of a child's fingers
now lost in the calm,
the dance of happy sunbeams
on leaves, rocks and tin,
the melting of identities
as skin moves against skin,
the feel of music on hairs
dancing and standing on end,
the rub of sand against stone
to shape an old barren land,
the wings of a dragonfly
kissing the face of the wind,
the gently growing ripples
dying against the water's rim;
what else is there?
what more do we need?
for surfaces are portals
to meet ourselves
as gods and kings.