On Becoming an Amoeba

Longing, desire, desire, longing. Oh, how to break the cycle? Action, only forward movement towards them, until there is zero degrees of separation. So close, something else emerges. A new life begins

i feel an exit wound
i wait with forced patience
still i feel no beginning
only an end oozing, rushing
and from it i catch pomegranate seeds
it will subside
said three times in the ways of a prayer
good things come in threes
like these seeds
i clench my fist around them
delicate enough to form a
protective layer
and i whisper to them in defiance
this too shall pass 
before their resting place
and i stand guard
the rain will wash away
erode at my will
with the sun shining down my face
oh, it's somebody's wedding somewhere
a wolf, the legend says
not long now before i howl back so that
the sun melts away all our outer layers
all degrees of separation
and i am transformed into my purest form
pure energy amoeba-shaped
one-celled with all tentacles extending, racing
towards your pull
to embrace you into me
would you, could you meet me halfway please
and when you do
let your tongue engulf my own
let mine melt like a candle 
in memorized patterns
in time it will be reshaped in your image
fused vowels and all
and consonants too hard on both our native tongues
was that always the intention?
oh, i think i overwatered my seeds.

Final note: Please listen to Duran Duran’s “Girls on Film” while rereading.