I could only ever take
gleanings
from your reserve –
clippings
from the growth
you threw away.
You had it in excess
and
I
was
drowning.
So I stole a piece of me
from you.
It tried to evade my grasp
sneak through
my fingered grip,
as if the knowledge was clear
that I did not
belong
to it.
It was so defined in you:
abundant
solid –
but in my hands,
became transparent,
cracked into fine powder
until
invisibility
overtook it.
I held the missing piece of me
before it ceased to be –
the deep yearning inside
for
everything
I need.
But realization
only pushed me deeper.
Regardless of need
or impending defeat,
I am not to have it –
because
it
would not take me.