out of the bottom regions, amazed
to meet her, laughing out of embarrassment—needing redemption—I take it
seriously—it’s in my veins.
early chills, trying at survival,
it felt terrific to master elements.
I don’t know her culture, I feel
nameless, I try to ignore the edifice: debris from marriages, as married to
existence, hours driving to the countryside; a feeling inside, running short on
time, why would I love exclusively: heart pressure, invisibility as compelling,
something moving me to whisper—they couldn’t, they wouldn’t, smooth convictions—to
imagine how volatile it really is.
her style caught my attention. I’m
a quiet soul. I make words fit; I dance in sunshine; I weather the winter—looking
in mirrors, bathing in my rearview, having foreign feelings—to pamper an
illusion, to wonder of what it takes, a chuckle at myself.
time is killing me. I lost it all. I
had a few, down for the crime, most died those years. a split hair, trekking a
diamond moon, to lay it out, to worry for years, it lives in a person’s
countenance.
strange islands, a striking
physique, deeper eyes, a few bags, so desperate to assist, to handle my own—like
a grown Phoenician, like an inner phoenix, the panic of the attraction.
I could never have my desires. I might
engage my lusts. I’m asking for something dying gently.
why would she aid me? I run faster.
breaking isn’t true to skin complexion. a racial force, an ethnicity with bad
ass luxuries. the rocky terrain, the twist on words, the verbs slipping into
action. the noun in her, the sun in her, tasting, colliding, shifting, ecstasy—it
meant so little.
much a shame. much a terror. those
pains to enter, it was given, at morning arguments—Love is deliberate, all in
my fever, so damn elegant, too much innocence dying.
