Fever Break

Sweat sticky and cold, burning
The day’s heat breaks as evening settles in
Cyclical comforts found in my breathing
Or the thumping rhythm of my heart
A pulse of life—something deeper than my mind

A song whose melody lacks harmony
memory of your breath with mine
Playing off each other like drums
Or some sweet, overplayed duet

In godtime I’ll stay, your voice a painful relief
In imagination I’ll construct a labyrinth
Where useless toys can lie waiting
for me to bide time and pretend with

It hurts, my heart I mean, a lonely song
Notes of shadows from the sweet used-to-be
Resting here seduces me to believe
I’ll actually find some water in this bitter heat

But the day’s heat is breaking
And so must my fever:
A sickness for home, an imagined memory

Blindly I’ll curse the heat, I’ll curse my fever, I’ll lose sight of truth, I’ll perseverate on years gone by for no reason

Open your eyes to bless the heat for it is what I’m feeling. The truth of now, don’t think of history. Time passed by? Or a present existence?

I can feel my fever breaking. Tears and sweat roll down my skin, mixing inconsequentially before dripping off my quivering chin. Evaporating off my damp chest that heaves and thumps, breathing and beating, my body cools with each passing moment. “Let it go” I hear.

I see my pointless toys, my comforting torture, my painful relief—the highest agony is this: admitting to what ails me is love that I truly once had, love I’ve held onto, but love that’s actually left me long ago.

I let it go

My fever breaks