Call me speckled pebble
in the moonlight,
the moisture slick on my smooth body.
Call me incense smoke
dancing across a red stained glass window.
Call me unafraid of losing myself.
Call to the mediator of impermanence,
digging her long fingernails into resistance.
I want to hold on
like strangling vines,
like the haunting ghost
flickering bedroom lights.
Who am I in the absence of infinity?
The overstayed lover
reliving her abandonment issues,
the foggy morning
rolling itself into nothingness,
the blue tide reaching towards the shore
over and over again?
Call me void of belonging
to one thing,
call me the dripping nectar
of a swollen blood orange
drying sticky to goose-bumped skin
in the thick of winter’s reign.
I am the moon howling back,
inaudible to human ears
yet deeply fulfilled.