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Impossibility bites and kisses the back of your neck
turns you around
lifts your shirt above your chest
presses bare flesh against bare flesh and says,
Fuck me totally or go home, sweetie.
Lean in or I'm leaving.
We think people want what they can't have.
But it's not that.
It's the space between asking and hearing
a yes or a no
that toes the holy threshold of
everything treasurable and true.
That's why we do impossible.
To love things enough that we let ourselves
linger with longing.
linger with longing.
To hunger something so particular that we actually
breed patience.
To find an edge that our limits lose themselves against.
That's where our ecstasy waits.
And our broken moan: that's our hallelujah.
Our diving in again: that's our orgasm.
We can have impossible
over and over again.
It only depends
on our asking.
on our asking.
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