I was told I was something to be desired.

What was desirable?

My legs? Long enough to dangle into pools of thought

but they were always focused on the dangling

with no desire to swim.

Sometimes I cry until I shake

and sometimes I equate myself

to trees, only before they pass.

I’m always finding myself

in the physical ideas.

You see we live in a world of drunken escapism

where disappearing is a cultivated art.

When I’m in the leaves, however

I’m not losing but finding myself.

Aren’t we all just waiting to be discovered?

This could all be an ugly metaphor.

But the sunlight ignites just one of my irises

And for you that was enough.

Yet blooming beneath the foliage

was a woman you said you knew.

You knew her name but that was all.