what have i

what have i
but the dim lights of you
lovers lost behind a bleak
window,

through which i must
hurl myself headlong
if i am to gain you back
after all these days,

shattering a barrier
erected when
our intercourse
was poorly spent?

all the estranged eyes
of all the lovers i engaged
with and released are
scowling through the film,

straining against it,
hurting for
the day when we are
congregating once again,

and embracing once
again and exchanging
once again and precise
once again.

what have i
but a bowed head
and a tear full of palms
reaching out for

you through the panes, hoping
that the breast that aches for
you will not drain itself too
much, too soon.

have your faces changed?
have your once-receiving
souls stitched themselves
up into oblivion?

am i to reach you
only to find your eyes
barren and your arms cold
as god and your lungs drowned?

what have i
in my unhappy womb
unliving in fervent acts
of crushing reservation

and the wearing of
a blanket woven by masking
blinds and secured with plastic
ties of self-loathing?

i'm certain you're there,
waiting, and i gain comfort
in that knowing, in that
expectation.

with the embers of your
leaking light i can see
through such a destroying
barrier that there is hope.

what have i
no less than a hammer,
wielded by the air
of your lungs

when you showed me you
loved me and i breathed
it in with my hungry
devotions?

i am sorry that
i have flung you so far;
that i let love lapse;

that i terrified myself
out of the goodness of
your eternity and

let go stale
the bread of you
passions!

on this path i am regaining
the clarity of my
former focus, releasing the
old foe out to pasture,

chasing fears from the
corners of my mortal
encampment that i might pierce
the wall now in this new fever.

what have i
left to do but to
press through?

what have i
lost that i can
find once more?

but everything