The panic of wanting you
comes unexpectedly, distant need
close now, roaring in my ears,
how quickly it becomes irrational.
Where are you? Where have you been?
Where are you going? How did you
survive before the day we met?
Waiting for your call, the throb
of it in my hand, signal always on,
How suddenly I am in the wrong house,
my rationale pounding on the door,
picking locks, testing windows
for any entry, because even as I
temporarily lose control, both of us –
my two halves – know it's nothing more
than misplaced desire.
This is New Orleans after all,
it comes in the rain.
– Collin Kelley