re: desire

AQ Hanna

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desire is a father 
in your teenager years when you didn’t know anything
except what you wanted, which was everything
you couldn’t have. i don’t care to take the blame
as long as you give something to me. in this life the sun moves
a little further from the earth. in this life i want
a better ending so you lie through your teeth and i watch
the hairline fracture in the walls, trace it back 
to my voice; listen. i’m asking questions for a reason
to keep you around. for a while i thought i could
be the sun-dried plant on your window, thirsty and weeping
from a cinder-block pedestal. i thought i could see you
happy sleeping next to my shadow and i’m trying,
baby, i’m really trying, trust me when i swear 
it’s all love, really, i’m fine with watching, 
but it’s pouring inside this drywall prison, 
chipped paint crumbling like rain. 
it’s just a supercut, baby, it’ll be over soon 
once one of us gets what they want; who cares about me?
i wanted language to take away the word loneliness 
until it was replaced with your name. 
you’re the one on the other end, you’re the city
i dream about living in, you’re the greatest art
that never leaves imagination. but hey, i promise we’re good
at getting what we want in another universe. 
think about it: in another universe you stay
up late just to tell me see you tomorrow before
you fall asleep. in another universe we forget what’s best 
for the present and when you walk away i’m not unfair,
i’m just selfish. i left the door unlocked.
i hope you don’t mind.