A Brick or a Figure

I'm not a talented sleeper.
They kept us awake in study hall.
So I approach the midnight with the only thing that occupies the night more than moon,
thoughts of touching your barriers,
breaking each one with a feel
deep into your nerves and out
and whisper in a massage
who knows what you'll need in your ears each level.

If you march around the wall seven times,
dear God,
in jubilee, never fear,
always believing.
Because the wall was created by fear.

I don't mean to pry when I sense the layer of reinforcement,
but if I close my eyes, it's a burdened neck
held by chains.
Following the flow of the neck balletically,
down into the heart with the lock and reaching in full hand
into your chest until you are free.

Maybe it's good enough to cry when your spark jolts my hand, another barrier.

Closer, closer, into your eyes until the dance of the cobra keeps you calm for me to bite into your suave arm
and wrap around your body
for you to come out.
Tighter, tighter. If we're both throbbing vein to vein,
I have the perception you will find yourself in the permeable flesh we share.

I love your barrier
and seeing the walls of Jericho fall.
But I want your barrier before it falls.
I'll run as far into your psyche as it allows
to carbon date the barrier
and sing a patriotic song to it,
"Long live my love
if it be for you,"
so I can drink this wall
into nectar
and spread you honey all over the next wall
and so on
and so forth,
wall and wall.
To drain your pain into my river
and stop your silent flood.

You are water,
somewhere between 50 and 65 percent.
I am water too.

If ever your water's too hot,
press into my face with yours, nestled,
and let osmosis cool you down.