I
When I’m driving far from home
I always jump the gun, and exit too early,
or I compensate and drive past my turn.
Regardless of how, I always miss
from excitement or my attempt to curb it.

When I drive myself back,
once I pass through the tunnel that marks where foreign lands become home
I always go too fast.
I’ve gone this way many times before.
No one patrols it.

I cannot curb my want.

———

II
I’ve known nothing more lonely than driving home,
on I-40, through the desert, at 2 AM.
Even my conscience is asleep.
Every gas station: a haven.
“One forty-eight.” The price of my “gourmet” coffee.
Also the friendliest words I’ve heard in an eternity.
15 minutes have passed. Or maybe 15 miles.
Or maybe both.
But here I am, alone at 2:15
on the long, long road. Driving,
going for no reason.
Not even the thought of home comforts me.

When first I saw you, I had but one want,
One desire: to become your new friend.
Friend, I say. The kind of friend that you wake
Up with each morning, not the kind you break
Bread with. I want for us to share a house,
Though more: I wish for us to share a heart

And so I tried to burrow to your heart
To make you feel some same measure of want,
So that you’ll hold me within, as I house
You within. I would replace the boyfriend
I ignored you telling me of. I’d break
You two apart, so together we’d wake.

Ah, and what pleasure it is when I wake
Next to you, and bask in beauty. My heart
Beats so loudly that I fear it will break
Your gentle slumber. Of that, I’ve no want.
I succeeded in becoming your friend,
But am just that: a mere guest in your house.

I love to be your friend, but I still house
A wish to comfort you after his wake.
Did I just wish death upon your boyfriend?
That is too strong. Perhaps a change of heart?
He could go evil, so that you would want
Out. At least you two could take some small break.

For, every single day, my heart does break
When you invite me over to your house
For lunch or for dinner, but not out of want
To sweep me up. Still, I’m caught in your wake
And still, still, still, I hold you in my heart
And still, still, still, you hold me as a friend.

And though you consider me your best friend,
the word “best,” not “boy” makes me want to break
Into the fortress that you call your heart.
‘tis the only place I wish to be my house.
What a lovely place it would be to wake
Up, and no longer be driven by want.

I shall always be a friend in your house,
Forever stuck in your wake of heartbreak.
Forever shall my heart be filled with want.