I wish I were colossal. A tremendous force that shatters street lamps and tangles hair. A sonic boom, goblets smashing, blood trickling from split ear drums, tender flesh. I wish I were crystal shards, a rattlesnake's hisss, a supernova, the scent of dank, fecund jungle earth. I wish I was deadly and irresistable, a flesh hungry Venus fly trap. I wish I was a knife flash on a cold night, a girl's first kiss and fistfight simultenaously. I wish I was the copper sweet sticky taste of blood oozing from a skinned knee. I wish I was the single tear that escapes despite the greatest effort to remain emotionless. I wish I was monumental, a colussus. I wish I was a secret hidden in an alchemist's lab, the phospherensce of fireflies, the essence of jasmine and vanilla wafting from warm breasts. I wish I was the nectar droplets of honeysuckle, the delirious lightness after vomiting liquor, a feather caught in an updraft. If only I were an angel in Blake's visions, glowing in a tree beside his bedroom window. The blighted landscapes of Dali, the Parisian nights of Rimbaud, the South American holy road trips of Kerouac, the waves that lapped Nin's houseboat. If only I were stolen at great peril and passed down through generations. If I were rainbow prismatic light dancing across a windowsill. If I were pure heat, kinetic frenzy, dew forming on an orchid. A woman's war-paint, tiger lily pollen streaked across the apples of the cheeks. If only I were jagged, a cacophony, the genius of the Slits. A stiff denim jacket and filthy worn jeans, cuffed unevenly. The meticulous sting of newly plucked eyebrows. The throbbing of vigorous sex and the vaginal, abdominal ache afterwards. The creaminess of three shades of lipstick topped by shimmering pink gloss, color so thick it forces a pout, the lips sliding apart. If only I were the last gasp, the first swim of the summer, a drip of candle wax on a quivering, bare chest.