Warmth. A fire that reaches the heart first,
then consumes the flesh
from the inside.
Undivided liberties. Not freedoms.
But liberties. There is nothing worse
than death in freedom.
Fearlessness. Or, at the very least,
undying thirst. At the very least
a heart larger than my fist
that the heart may always win.
Love. Yes, even love.
Not out of my need. But,
because it needed me, the way
bodies need touch to stay alive.
A place to die in. One with clean corners.
One with even walls: a bed that I will take
but once in perfect slumber.
Everything I once believed in, living on without me,
like all the trees that have lived through winter
after winter after winter after winter
without their leaves, without their beautiful, beautiful leaves..
