"The Present, Tense"

"The Present, Tense"

The chase was never beer but the whiskey definitely drowned,
really, it was the moment someone picked me.

That cocktail mixed itself,
thrill and warmth and being seen,
and I drank it faster
than anything bottled or canned.

But let love itself come close
and watch me go sideways.
I can pour myself out easy,
both hands, no hesitation.
Receiving it though,
that's where I go quiet
and start looking for the door.

The cycle runs itself by now.
Get close, get nervous,
get numb enough to do
things sober me wouldn't.
Feel worse. Pull back.
Wait for the feeling to starve out.
Start again.

Nearly a year without and the bottles
aren't the thing I'm scared of most days.

It's the feeling itself.
The openness of it.
The way love just stands there
patient and unhurried,
asking nothing but that I stay.

But it does ask that I actually commit and stay...

Words from Dune come to mind,
the ones about fear,
how it kills the mind first,
how the only move is through.

Not around. Not a drink.
Not distance dressed up as dignity.

Through.