If I Could Take You With Me

"A man's work is nothing but this slow trek to rediscover, through the detours of art, those two or three great and simple images in whose presence his heart first opened." Camus.

We met, out of bounds
in a funny box that contained my life.
You sympathized and I shunned.
I spun circles across the confetti-strewn arena.
You were drunk and I was distracted
by your lesser counterpart.
In a place of business, I knew
you match me brick for brick.
You wooed and we both won.
How could we ever lose?
Every time I am forced to self-sustain,
I see how acutely
we delight in one another.

I have certainly depicted untruths,
images without prospect
and of a soul like a vacuum.
I have not done this deliberately.
What oozes from digits clacking on keyboards
is the byproduct of a life
lived fully and with risk involved.
A liability.
Little or no guarantee on precious capital.
You peel my petals like ribbons
and I grin, flailing yellow.
The instant in which I survive
alone
is an instant squandered,
for you actualize in me
pure joy like honey.


In life, fluid as water, time is all we've got.