Voice whispers through the speaker,
confirmation—I am an addict again,
frustrated at this grasp, peacefully content
then instantly withdrawn as my master commands.
Half anxious to please, still angry that such as him
could own the most delicate of me.
Waiting, anxious, no way to
Respond, no exchange, not
Sure that I should want to,
Though I know I will, put my
eagerness to spill my convictions, yet
silenced by the calm and entrancing sound
Of breath on the other end, nervous,
Equally as lost for words as myself,
Torn, desperate, hungry, cold, warm.
Likely another few months until
He rises to the surface, again after
I have stepped forward with heavy feet,
Broken heart, anxious to leave the losses behind,
Begin whatever chapter is next,
Moving through life like a stream,
Aching to gush like a river at the bank,
Overflowing, taking over fields, redirecting
the journey I should take to arrive in
my resting place, not preserving my volume,
but gaining, losing and arriving
in whatever drops of me are left,
becoming a small part of something
greater than myself, as I have always been.