Like stars, your begonias
burn holes in my eyes.
My beard grows against
your skin with a lion’s thirst.
Flicking fire, I drag you back—
no more walls. Only an inch,
one sleepy inch, keeps us
from bursting in the dark.
After Passion Pit’s “Sleepyhead.” A second one for today, by the way, because I missed yesterday on account of being too tired (and also there might have been a little Candy Crush Saga involved).
And … you know I sometimes write persona poems, right? So I’m not necessarily the bearded guy in this poem? OK, good.