Fever 1 - 6

I miss that dizziness, not this one,
not this one, no. Like something in motion, terrifying.
That’s what I long for. Even though I’m
at the lowest ebb and the danger’s
already passed. I turn over, I beg.
For something of what I had within me
to return.
But I must admit that
already I don’t know what lived
in me. Maybe it’s just a
recapitulation. I wake up and I know
what I need to say
and do. Recalibrate myself.
It torments me to carry on
without that thing there, like a
poison that feeds off itself.
Coming and going, I couldn’t sleep.
Touched, caressed. You were
my water. I carried you round at night
through the corridors. I loaded you up
like a pane. So
delicate. Maybe I’d fall over. I couldn’t
stop falling over.
But, if there’s something I long for
it’s not that. No. Nobody chooses to live
like that. Coming and going. You were
always mine. I loved that pretence.
I only knew how to breathe that way.
I can feel its tentacles, its lean
flesh, its heart beating in the
darkness. It’s there in the things I look at,
in what I still hope for. I can stay.
I can close my eyes, sleep.
Protected, I don’t surrender to the night.
I still manage. I breathe badly,
I wake up at the worst time
and I open my eyes, open them
really wide like a beacon. What do I see?
I see nothing. I see the night.