here and back again

humidity is most noticed between fingers, i think, in swollen hands, in the way clothing peels off like rough sticky oranges...

wine, wine, beer, dripping slowly, heat off the road. even when it's not hot, the damp is thick. little pieces of the few days slip out as they pass, squeezed out from the heat and the damp.

there was the gallery, and there were glass beads coating a taxidermy deer, solid dew.

i don't have a christmas tree, and i am not waiting for jesu, small whelping infant, moving fingers, small tiny fingers, grasping.

but i remember back, and i part the fog of the last year, and i go into my gut under sinew and confusing moments. i saw an old friend in brisbane, and she is 8 months pregnant, a small separate human being inside of her, pushing at her skin, and god, i remember that one realization that one day, i want that too. not just that though, the connected fibers. the co-parent, the partner. the stability, the house. the place that is home. the person that is yours. these things? i want them. and i should not feel compromised for wanting them, as though i should wish for something less fleshy and basic.

and then, i hear stories of people who regret it. they say it whisperingly, so deeply ashamed of it, but they want to wish away their children. what if i am misguided, and mislead by this biological fluctuation? what am i looking for really, other than home, and someone to be alone with, and at home with?

i want that, and i have no idea where to look.

there might be something mismade about me that causes this to keep slipping away. the closer i get, the further it moves away.