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The entire history of human desire takes about seventy minutes to tell. Unfortunately, we don’t have that kind of time.

Richard Siken

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Richard Siken
Age: 57
Born: 1967
Born: February 15
Poet
New York City
New York
Time
Minutes
Takes
Desire
History
Tell
Seventy
Human
Seventies
Humans
Unfortunately
Kind
Entire

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If you love me, Henry, you don’t love me in a way I understand.
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Here I am leaving you clues. I am singing now while Rome burns. We are all just trying to be holy. My applejack, my silent night, just mash your lips against me. We are all going forward. None of us are going back.
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Who am I? I'm just a writer. I write things down. I walk through your dreams and invent the future. Sure, I sink the boat of love, but that comes later. And yes, I swallow glass, but that comes later.
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Is that too much to expect? That I would name the stars for you? That I would take you there? The splash of my tongue melting you like a sugar cube?
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Wearing your clothes or standing in the shower for over an hour, pretending that this skin is your skin, these hands your hands, these shins, these soapy flanks
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I swear, I end up feeling empty, like you've taken something out of me and I have to search my body for scars.
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You are playing cards with three Jeffs. One is your father, one is your brother, and the other is your current boyfriend. All of them have seen you naked and heard you talking in your sleep. Your boyfriend Jeff gets up to answer the phone. To them he is a mirror, but to you he is a room.
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He was pointing at the moon, but I was looking at his hand.
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Oh, the things we invent when we are scared and want to be rescued.
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Sometimes you get so close to someone you end up on the other side of them.
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Moonlight making crosses on your body, and me putting my mouth on every one.
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The way you slam your body into mine reminds me I’m alive, but monsters are always hungry, darling.
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The light is no mystery, the mystery is that there is something to keep the light from passing through.
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I'm battling monsters, I'm pulling you out of the burning buildings/ and you say I'll give you anything but you never come through.
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Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake and dress them in warm clothes again.
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You’re falling now. You’re swimming. This is not           harmless. You are not                     breathing.
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You see, I take the parts that I remember and stitch them back together to make a creature that will do what I say or love me back.
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When you have nothing to say, set something on fire.
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I woke up in the morning and I didn’t want anything, didn’t do anything, couldn’t do it anyway, just lay there listening to the blood rush through me and it never made any sense, anything.
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I am singing now while Rome burns.
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