I'd gladly climb back into your heart and get drunk on your pulse again--that limitless chamber.
I'd gladly climb back between your rivers and feel the power of everything most ancient and utterly new behind, through, and before me-- speaking with rippling mouths and signs.
You're gone, though. Everything is back to the way it was before. The invisible seed died and dissolved, unimplanted. It's all still there, scattered, dissolute, lonely.
I would give anything to be fooled again by that most true illusion.
My hands are empty, my words are empty, my blood courses without destination, my cells divide without promise, my heart only waits for you to come back with your drunkenness, your truth.