May

As I sat facing away from the sun,
Hoping to hide, my face, shield my eyes,
My back burnt, I couldn't run
From the big bright ball in the sky.

I talk and I point and I laugh and I look
But when I reach out to it,
Throwing my invisible hook
Lie, and sink her into that seemingly
Orange skin, clinging on to the taste of hot,
Swallowing the seeds of doubt
And letting them grow into a fire-tree,
The leaves are steam when I water them,
The branches turn to ash as
Soon as they grow,
Held up, shaped, wire-free
By it's own heated cage, the soil
Turns to dust, trying to wrap it
In foil, hoping it's defeated rage
Will hurt itself, and not me.

It miss it's rough bark,
Scratching the back of my hands,
A cat call, slits in the dark,
My knuckles tingle with it's coarse course,
Almost like mountains across my wrist,
The soft sharp spikiness makes me chuckle,
But in all it's jagged charm, I could not
Resist, took my fist against the crags,
First that and then my arms;
In some strange embrace, me, and the rags
Of what perhaps was more hard than harsh,
And I could not get through, harm
Is what I thought it had intended to do.

After the second has passed,
I peel it all back, and I regret
Wanting to alight it all,
Now just a twisted silhouette,
I see it, and I stall.