Safe for Walking

The asphalt is hot. My feet are bare.
The only place safe for walking is the
reflective center line.
Trying to keep my balance, I reach my arms out
from my sides.
I've learned that my feet will burn
with the slightest break in concentration.
Walking like this,
so carefully,
with arms outstreatched and sweat dripping
from my chin and nose,
fearing the consequence of every faulty step,
I am reminded of loving you.

I remember feigning sleep while lying beside you;
a time when I woke nauseated
by your smell
in my bed.
Your attention was like a familiar pain
at the front of my brow.
I always felt
you there.
And so, given the opportunity, I would take your joy.
As if sacrificing a hostage child in the face of her mother,
I might casually put a bullet in your hope.

Now I imagine lying beside you,
and I am hungry.
Now, I am disarmed.
I sweat out a humbling fever of need.
I feel the back of your neck against my lips,
and I grow wild.
I must have you.