death
when she came i knew to expect a kiss, but i was never told of the sweetness on her lips. nor how her eyes would leave me undressed. undone.
i never expected the intimacy of a hand around my soul, and she can see it on my face
so she tells me of how it came to be, and of all the things i’d never see. she says, “decay is just the consummation of life and death, the conception of what’s yet to come”
the flowers by the bed give credence to her words— roses, lilacs, lily grass, bells of ireland, baby’s breath
unfamiliar
since you’ve left,
your memories follow me around like little spirits:
atop the stairwell
behind the vanity mirror.
little ghosts, whispering gentle comforts
elusive discoveries
and when you die all the mysteries of the universe are revealed.
it’s like saying there’s some devilish exchange where you can’t satisfy your soul until you’ve traded away your life,
like the rest of temptation.
perhaps the mystery of it is that some things can never be acquired, only received. a gift to the quiet, and defeated—
the reality of love
i don’t need you. no primordial instinct dictates i love you
no laws of physics, oaths of man, or promises from god require i need you.
needing somebody only exists as a tempting romanticism.
it would be more accurate to say:
i want you.
i desire you.
i chose you,
above all other options.
not because a need that predicates my survival. but because of a want greater than a foundation for life. a choice reasoned through desire rather than maxim. this is not a subtle difference. it is not just semantic.
to say that i choose you more than the body flows blood,
does not mean i need you.
non-euclidian
i think it’s in how she wanders. you’ll set her down at the starting chalks, fire the gun, and before the cheers subside you find her at the beach talking with the crabs.
“how is your day today, andrew?”
“ ’eick, ‘eick”, replies andrew the crab before receding into his sandy home.
“is that so?”
wondering how she got here, you’ll try to follow her path.
endearing, perhaps out of its oddity, one you could never find on your own.
(maybe i am lacking some occult membership card?)
but.
if . you. place. one.
foot. at a… time. gen t ly
in her footprints.
(letting the wind catch you when you fall)
you might hopefully and awkwardly recreate the dancing
tides
i slip beneath the water. i hear her breathe. inhale. exhale. the kelp keeps time through gentle swaying. my hair is breathing too. more aware of the space between my toes, as cold water flows between them. more aware of every piece, shapes and lines being drawn against me. she’s more intimate than whatever clothes i was wearing before.
god, how i shiver at the tides beneath my skin