in absentia

i seek you in my darkest moments.

at my loneliest, dingiest moments,
when i’m dissipating into everything around me
not bothering to gather myself
sans locus.

you are at the depth of my self-pity.
my very worst.
you are what i fear i will fall into
if i give in to my mediocrity.
you are what pulls me out of it.
you are what i hope for.

how can i explain that without
falling into the worst kind of rhetoric?
i suppose you believe in reincarnation
(i don’t).

would that explain the kind of
familiarity i feel for you?
the intimacy with which i know
your laughter, your fingers, the bumps on your head?

would that explain
the cruelty of my gaze,
my rejection of you,
my refusal to engage even in
the most perfunctory eye contact?

it’s inconsistent to reduce it
to something so physical as lust:
but your body draws me to you,
and i make fiction
of everything else.

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