by Jason Hensel

This is the angle of explanation:
Because I always boomerang back
to you, I know the figure of your
desires, how coming close is a
crash landing into closed hands,
how leaving is a giveaway ending.

Blue is such a small word for feeling.
The other day sparkling in memory,
but dull in fact.  You always lead me on.

I cannot express.  I cannot open.  I
cannot love the way you wish.

Yes, I am coming around to a point
of reason, explanation, excuse
(we must choose our words
in accordance with whom we speak)
I love the feel of the chill of wind
as I turn my body back to you, spinning
at an angle, hoping to catch a lift in
the air, and soar above and past you, forever.

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