an unanswered question about the folly of giving. a requiem. a song to be pushed between lips and a rain dance for fire. a visit from an old lover in the form of a text message.
quiet, slothful mornings, beginnings and green tea. teaching me how to walk again. to hold on to this baton of courage and run like my life depended on it. a dissertation on love and it’s vices in all of my notes, scratching itself into my scalp.
and I am
swimming between the compliments. fishing for your eyes. dizzying myself with your words and violently not myself when I’m with you. uncuffing my ribs, undressing my veins filling them with putty, cinnamon, cardamom and jade. a vessel made for a simpler love.
and the air is
stale like church on Wednesday. like crying shekeres and send down fire. like all of this heaviness is just a blanket waiting to burn off and invite me into a calmer tomorrow place. like take my hand and we can be tomorrow or one day and like that’s okay anyway. even if it’s not. even if it’s an empty promise.
teaching me how to walk again. teaching me how to fly and be seraph, gold ichor, flowing through these stupid clumsy clouds. doing it all over again with my heart. plugging desperation in my mouth and asking me to chew.