Those Met in Midair.

Is it foolish

to feel this?

A sweet crescendo

all over again,

traced up

in the same ways as before,

the same ways

that have so often

led me

by the nose

to aching,

to indifference,

and building cages

of my own.

But we survived

that silly calamity,

like two untamed hawks

meeting in midair,

making love wildly,

and then falling apart

the moment before

they hit the ground.

And will we catch each other again?

The animal within,

she spurns this hope,

yellow eyes narrowed,

disdain written across her chest.

We've done

what was needed,

haven't we?

But I am no simple

cell,

a beast thirsting

for little more

than a full gullet

and a dry place

to haunt.

And that bit of more,

she mollifies this confusion,

knowing

there is an inkling

we may uproot

much more

through one another,

perhaps so much more

than I have ever been able

to rightly handle.