i want to soak in the light of street lamps
as humidity boils me until i prune
and sweat continues to secrete.
then you'll pull at the root of it all.
and though i'll never seem to forget
or understand why i must feel this way,
it's not for me to.
i want to walk out in the streets with no shoes,
feel the damp concrete hit and slap against my bare soles,
for my heels to throb and swell. so then i can feel this
industrial Earth for what it is.
it can feel me too.
it can connect with me just how i want --
all i want is to feel special (like everyone).
i want to be tucked within the Earth's crust
like i'm in a ****. i want its heat to provide,
its dirt to give nutrition, its descending hum lulling me in and out of
even though it gets hot and cold in the atmosphere above,
there's consistency in this ****, in this home.
it's always warm, there's always a heartbeat. i always hear it.
i can hear other things, too.
hushed whirring of cars, muffled taps of footsteps.
i hear compliments, "oh, when it blooms it'll be so lovely."
and curiosity such as, "i wonder what it'll be."
i hear soft whispers of wind.
i feel sweet kisses from the sleep-inducing heat in forms of pearls
of sweat on my forehead.