Waiting to be Smitten

I don’t want you to shrink,
to wither away, dust and skin
a ghost carried on drafts
weakness overpowering,
my brittle vessel,
my deflating birthday balloon,
my broken home
mold covered cracking
falling in, sagging at the seams
barely load bearing
collapsing in a rottenwood pile
light debris spreading the memory itself,
discordant, out-of-focus,
details deleting themselves,
not wanting to cause me any trouble.

I want you to impose.
I want you to fill my sight and conquer me.
I want you break me and I don’t want to be fixed.
I want you to be everywhere I go and everyone I meet.
I want you to be be a problem.
I want you to channel the goddess inside of you and make me fearful.
I want to live in your footprints and follow when you whisper.
I want to know that my cries are a grumble barely audible in the wake of your immense hunger, and I want to spit myself over a flame at the snap of a finger.
My glory is oblivion at your golden hands,

I am a reluctant king without armor, a victim of expectation, waiting to be smitten.