Interior: Kevin’s Diner

in my veins was not blood
            rushing, but something wilder.

I became uncharted ground. my landscape made oceanic,
            the vastness swelling inside me. if the question is

of whom I have become, I offer
            the syntax of my want as an answer. my lips

part to speak and there is only a roaring—seafoam against
            spire of grey rock, these other holy collisions.

sometimes, I dream of proximity: our bodies, the wind
            combing through my hair, guiding your fingers.

I cover you in my sweat; we can’t tell who is in control.
            I spend most nights searching for

an unannounced hunger. imagine me scraping at the thin veil
            of this teal midnight, hungry & running, my skin shimmering.

I leave myself. I return, threadbare; gnawed at until I was made perfect.
            there is no mistaking what I let inside me

for anything gentle. imagine what perfection requires.
            imagine the landscape burning. there is no denying what hands

are capable of. if this were a movie, would I have already died
            in your arms?