Permission to Mangle

A poem

Photo by Renee Fisher on Unsplash

it’s absolutely wild,
wild,
to feel this way again.
to be considering,
entertaining
the thought of considering.
it feels too soon,

and yet,

you’ve arrived
perfectly on time.

replenisher of giggles,
accountant of smiles,
drummer of my pulse.

and I know, I do.
even as you move my limbs, as I dance
to the rhythm you command.
I hardly know you, I
only know what you’ve shown me.

but, God, what you have shown me.

still, even as I type this,
there is no denying this fear.
this image of you that I
keep so close to me
must
be too good.

I must be fooling myself.
it can’t be this easy.
there’s no way.
and so I brace myself, because

crush

doesn’t mean “to hold together
with utmost reverence,” or
“to keep safely and lovingly intact”

rather, it means
“to pulverize, deform, or mangle.”

so pulse-drummer,
mangle if you must, but
please, just mangle me softly.