Pain is...
waiting, thinking how you'd touch me if you came
how you'd run your fingers from the nape of my neck
to the backs of my knees
like you were on a Sunday drive
and you don't come.
Pain is...
when you do come and I can think of nothing else in life
but you in the dark above me
the sounds of being on the edge
and then the letting go
falling on my ears
like soap bubbles that float down and hit pavement.
Pain is...
being there then, laying beside you
staring at you like it was the end of life
(on the verge of suffocation)
and you were air molecules.
Pain is...
laying breathless in the shadows
misinterpreting freedom, wishing
I could come into daylight
though I'd end up stuck in the branches of winter
like the kite that gave itself to the north wind.
Pain is...
being afraid
to let the anesthesia wear off
to see if the
pain is
still there.