I am roused by the vicious tide in my gut, calling come, sit or stand, shake your hair out, you've got to move and even the loitering clouds cannot commit to raining. I suppose my muscles still have some fuel, some will, some metallic anger in them, but I do not exercise their unalienable rights. Instead, I imagine that all language was born in my lifetime, in my butterfly mind, held at bay for all to enjoy upon my birth.
And while remaining prostrate, I turn you both over in my hand, my silver dollars fished from the drain. We are three in one, juxtaposing and contradicting, a salivating oxymoron- this is nothing precious. We all praise the moon and leap at the sun, having within us utmost logic and social stigma. There is always an odd man out, in fact, we install bars around our souls to push the others further, jingling our freshly-minted keys on the inside. We cannot continue in this blasphemous manner, attempting to weave beautiful lives while our screaming mouths are filled with wool. But I concede the following truths: we are of the same stuff, gold and velvety brocade woven to create, to snuff fear. Everyday we tweeze pearls from the muck of ourselves and take them to the world.
I lust heartily for you, two-thirds of me. I am a bowl of scented water, laden with yawning roses and saturated with unconditional love. My bed is a rolling vessel, gliding on the glycerine tide unto the shallows at the end of my life. A veil shields my eyes; it is black, grazing my knees, observing my hidden truths. I feel bizarre like never before. There is a billowing in my ribcage, a fluttering fear. I resist it, pulling my own hair in covered shadow, but it persists, rising to my collar and taunting my thoughts and I think what bad thing could ever happen here? and so I let you in--
With honey on my articulate tongue, I'm speaking your Christian name with conviction, and fear and love are like oil and water no longer. We are a contradiction unto science.
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