By Anastasia Simms
Sometimes I feel empty, unfed.
I want someone to inject warmth into my torso.
I hope to be free.
Sometimes I feel electricity singe the underside
of my skin.
I want someone to absorb the consequences
of my unfettered explosion.
I hope to plant roots and brave the cold.
Sometimes I feel the universe press down
on my chest
trying to let the last of the air out
so it can roll me up like a plastic mattress
and stick me under the coats in the back closet,
but I don’t want to go.
I want someone to melt me like butter
and lie there
shapeless and golden and warm.
God, I want to be warm.
God, I want to be the smell of smoke that
clings to your favorite flannel by the campfire and
basks in the flickering light.
I hope I don’t fuck it all up.
I hope my brother sticks around long enough
to see us both get better.
I hope to end my days the way today started,
warm beneath a blanket
lying in the sweet pause that happens
when God takes a breath before speaking.
I hope to be whole and full forever.