the fires on the hills across the river

The sky is still a murky yellow, the air is still hard to swallow, and the sudden and surprising autumn-esque chill is invading my house.

I want arms. I want teeth. I want a neck. I want a face to my face, skin on my skin. A thumb skating lightly, back and forth, along my jawline, along my zygomatic arch. Hair soft enough my fingers could run through it and curl around it.

This is alarming, how this has come back, full force. I thought it would go away. I thought it was the last product of adolescent fantasies. But it has come back, and all grown up.

I just want to lie in my bed all day because it is starting to be that time of year when my feet are always cold.