Need

Explain it to me like you love me, the difference between what you have and what you have to do. Tone matters.

I'm perched on this barstool oh-so-lightly, haunches like a spring. I'm waiting for an ill wind to blow me off. Be gentle.

When you say action, you're wrong because nothing's happened yet. You've hardly spoken your intentions, slippery as they are.

I can think of a thousand answers. They're stuck to the beer-tacked floor, they're at the bottom of this gin & tonic, they're buzzing in my ears.

You try again with intent, and still, you're wrong. If you buy me another drink, I'll tell you why: because I came to fight.

The state in which you have me is past. The state in which you want me is two sips from tears, smooth-brained and needy past sense.

So put me there. Sugar your voice. Flick your lighter on the corner of the madding avenue and ask me, bright and willful, to be and be done.

There are no magic words but truth. There is no truth but need. There is no need but this, a clench that never ends.