I despise the beat of my heart.

Its relentless pounding --

Pummeling the walls of my chest without mercy,

And treacherous clamor, spares no secret of my mind:

"He comes. He's close. He's near."

Carefully, I silence my step.

Willfully, I hold my tongue

And hush away all other thoughts --

All but my menacing heart's fixation:

"He comes. He's close. He's here."

To have utter silence,

To hear only the cadence of your breath

Wafting past the uncautious curves of your lips.

To feast on what you might say, or how you may sigh,

And fall intoxicated from drinking in

The stolen moments of your lingering presence

Given life by your breaths.

For the very air about you, I am insatiable.

My betraying heart bangs on

Refusing to be muted or measured, no matter how I beg.

As you draw in, closer and tighter

It hammers out, harder and louder:

"Enthralled. Ensnared. Enflamed."

It is no use.

My booming heart has given me away,

As your gaze seems to bare my thoughts.

I've lost my breath, struggling to capture yours

But your mouth offers me your breath, instead.

It is not your breath I hear,

Nor my own heartbeat any longer.

It is your heart I hear, thundering through your chest:

"I'm here. I'm yours. You're loved."

~ D. Harrell, The Elephant Trials 2016