Eaten up by both your fire and inflamed by it,
Left dancing with this ache of an insight,
And a tremble of an echo at a kind of embodiment I can never know,
But then that I know profoundly through my own bodily investment.
I can only burn inward.
Burning outward only by allowance.
Hearing only through exposure.
Seeing only by a kind of craft wrought in the screams muffled to us.
I’d of manage more than ‘it was really good’ if I could have bared all in that moment the weight of that space and circumstances between us,
If I could have breathed more with your eyes upon me,
If I could have been ’emotional in public’,
If I could have stopped trying to explain away my sadness,
And stepped out of a world that denies the foundation of yours.