poetry to learn to love again.
"and i would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us any more." -- kafka.
(2019).
you are my fear of death with your white hairs crisscrossing like the lines that are mine. you are the sunwash of this morning scattering far and wide: i say, don't let us become divided when all i can do [it was confiding in you --
you left love's bite lipmarked across my chest. blessed: i hoped the bruises would never fade --
and we hung me up in a tree to dangle earthward with my eyes watching you you you
i obsess: i am tangled to try and find myself newly fangled like fallen fruit from the tree. [i digress: i watch you and me in a dream that makes my body comfortably contorted where i wondered how to rip my face off without hurting it again.
i pondered over love: i lingered over the lust and the longings and how i dragged my lame limbs across that mattress. (i did it for love) the nausea that gnashed at my one pearl dropped neck all those months ago. you felt it driving home and pulled over in your car. you saw the bodies and you reeled like i did once under white moonlight or yellow lamplight or a distant star in collateral brightness. (i didn't know and i will never) neither you or i knew really what it was as we hung out our bodies far from us -- but i saw myself yielding like a lamb to god under the ceiling of a graffitied bathroom.
and i was and am suspended like a worrying notion; you came to play with me in my dreams once again and i say, i promise, (it's alright, from across an ocean) i'll try to find my way back again for another [night, a waking life.
(18th February 2019, revised 20th May 2019)
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