It is warm in here.
But tonight there is little of that cozy warm most desire,
my body is drenched in a lactic warmth,
that slides down my skin as smoothly as a newborn does from their womb.
The thought of the process is cringeworthy,
but the idea of it begets a beauty,
only read in poetry.
I don’t want to read about it tonight,
I just want to feel a facile security,
that envelopes my soul momentarily until I am paralyzed in time.
And within the stillness an eternity is experienced for seconds,
I think it is for less than a second.
Then the moment is over and I return,
to the sticky warmth,
and it doesn’t bother me that I’m uncomfortable because tomorrow,
I won’t even remember today’s heat.
It isn’t unwritten — these thoughts will remain I think
I think I think
When do I not think?
endnote: this feature photo is my own photography
post endnote: I think as I have found a slight comfort with sharing things about myself online I have been able to release this incessant need for me to preface or explain why I have done what I have done. It feels nice to be like this. I feel lighter. I think that is my awkward way of saying thanks for being an incredibly embracing community — what a relief it is to be a part of it. So thank you.