A Labyrinth that Pulses
I have just downed my fourth energy drink
And I am still not content. I hate that I am
Not tired. I hate that there is a labyrinth
That pulses red hot in the center of our lives
Like a sort of wildness.
And you hate that I am not wild
Not because we are animals
But because I miss you
Only in the morning
After that you are something more plain and white.
I remember how you
A single mother of no one
Would hoard children's books
Placing them on display in the book cases
Of your living room
Like a rich, black soil
Clotting against the earth
Like a raw patch of true love.