Trains thunder through my veins. A thousand birthday candles flicker every wish there ever was. “We dwell in possibility” like Emily. I can’t turn from you or steady my gaze, so I crash into your rousing embrace. Your fingertips memorize my skin. Explosions begin. Again. & Again my cells spring like pinballs launched & I spin. I bounce off your flashing grin & fight to be still. But there’s a 90-piece orchestra tuning as I swoon hard & your midnight eyes swear parades are close by & the bass drum races around the corner to catch my heart & all the while, my mind constructs bridges, cathedrals, museums of art. You’re my bearing, my prayer, my sculpture. A lighthouse, a muse, my melt-away fuse. Noble man, I study you with mastery in mind. Move your galaxy to my lap for safekeeping. You coax oceans to keep caressing my shore, choreograph the sun & moon in their tango. I know exactly what Keat’s skylark knows when you’re near, too charmed to think of ground, sanctified by the sound of my name on your lips, your palms on my hips, the timbre of your voice, positive the only choice is Yes. A, B, C, and D are Yes. I don’t need to guess. Anymore.
Dana Kinsey is an actor and teacher published in Fledgling Rag, Drunk Monkeys, ONE ART, On the Seawall, Sledgehammer Lit, West Trestle Review, MacQueen’s Quinterly, Prometheus Dreaming. Dana’s play, WaterRise, was produced at the Gene Frankel Theatre. Her chapbook, Mixtape Venus, is published by I. Giraffe Press. Visit wordsbyDK.com.
