The Milkshake (8/3/2020). -M.Weisgerber

It turns, it yearns for blood; the spitting then the holding, the cutting 

beside the folding, lies set for unbecoming – needs. For she sees, she 

weeps now when she wakes alone, not sad, not glad, no not there, just no 

one here & in a kitchen full of chill days, light sliding sideways, the room 

brightening wildly without me & w/out south wide windows gaping wide.
 
I woke there beside the pour, flailed upon the many nights of fog &

tepid moors that didn’t run, dreaded heat that sunk deep inside our bones:
fast batter – oh so much soft layer on layer to form that strange cake
(this is what happens when the air is right): I am tired of wandering, lead 

hat on as I seek her, belying her past - I remain the voice behind the veil. 
 
I wish to watch her place my hand in that dicing blended rain, I desire to 

see flesh shear, disintegrate, fracture, crumble into all the small
words I need to witness for last of me before the cracking of the storm the

falling of the barn, her dorm, the hatred I’ve been warned to give before. 
Not this foolishness she wishes to be – not the better part of me?  Shame.
 
I woke to stand alone, hurt a heart by which to live.  Surrendered. 
But no, alas: I remain with! Such love - there is a circle of bright between the furrowing my brow at a worry that may never come, I
struggle, shake in the moods that we made, the love that is gone there for someone else to find, wind then, yet it never was truly mine to claim. 
 
I went to look for you in the sky last night, and no
you weren’t there – how I was not surprised, lost dots flying high for
there is no lady rising to greet, no signal that I’ll find, no pause that calls,
each day means so much less than the one before, not colored prayers, no 

cries between droplets, no time – only a man not worth his dime.  
 
So I shall show you terror - of pure hate on the head of a pin; I’ll display 

teeth that bleed upon the breaking, the hundred thousand veins giving 

way, chemicals that invade beside the music that once we what made 

upon that bed was white, then teal, then everything between my brain 

waves giving way. Custard on the mouth side, needing a finger fold.
 
Dribbling tall along this messy mountain, your sheets cupped me, tangled 

fast as I stumbled up, ran down the far drive, out to where the cragside 

could claim me, past where slave owners did twirl and beat me.  They?

A shadow that was we, a fractal that can open, seedling be, but…but…
 
But no – you, like I, we are not ever like that, never
gave up till the needing, sleep beside the sheathing, covered lashes,
not cold, so very chill, lips moving towards remorse:
oh, how my core, my eternal spring then my eyes, my very soul it aches.  
 
Be there now, before it takes me (we?  us?  gone now, forever)