Camaraderie, fluid life, thoughts composed in this head and transcribed by orbs of intuition. Across the kitchen table, fruit laden, covered in sooty life they pass. I'm lucky, not only for gifts of mind and body, but for intrinsic need to throw caution to the wind.
Moan and squawk you cannot, voice oozing like syrup, and magic, out of lips of mauve. In a small package, wrapped traditionally in brown parchment and twine, you arrived on my icy stoop one night. You are an eraser, pink and squeaky, leaving a trail on my pages as you negate any foresight I, the disillusioned speaker, pretend to have.
I know one consequence of my behavior that will certainly result, but I dare not write it, make it real, for fear of flippance. What is love? I know, being human, but I have never participated, going through each motion like the shadows on the lake...
The moon tosses energy towards crystalline clouds, suspended like muslin above miles of gravity. Expanding like my heart- I might implode from the gratuitous repetition. But such a smile, such metallic mirth. A warped ceiling tin, I bow and pop. I'm flimsy.
2 comments:
I like.
Post a Comment