I like how you like the same things that I do
I know we’re never too far both minds teetering on the question of who
who aligns our stars so exactly, so well
for us to play, chip and chime like a gong and bell
who turns our indiscretions into soft curves and swings
curves of riddles, swings of hypotheses
and that leaderboard for derived meanings
who, by the water’s edge, thinks of all these nuances
falling like waves and crashing on corners
who smoothes these brittle edges, herds our untamed emotions
who, burnishes them and pebbles them as they skittle in the ocean
Of love, hope, joy and surrender- and who becomes one I wonder
in the grip of a soft kiss.
This spectrum of golden dust
around your meningeal hair
those amusing gaps
segueways of humorous slip ups I’ve missed
in order to get on with the day
those wily wiles and daring reaches of expression…
your mind on a holiday
feels like a feast I can’t have enough of
meaning assembling itself so fat
I can barely hold on to those threads
keep repeating to myself
I’ll be back to it
now, where has it gone?
of ways you’ve been…
like an artefact in a museum staring back
your face through the day revealing nothing
Nothing of the life we just lived
Nothing, not a trace of the night before
Of the moment framed by the absolute,
You were there…
How do you deconstruct yourself from the inside?
Do you scratch walls at night, looking for the body that isn’t there, for skin that doesn’t sink to your touch; do you look for warmth that doesn’t eek from the concrete?
How do you stifle a cry?
Do you tear up because of kindness? The kindness that makes you shrink, feel small and exalted, all at once?
How do you evade?
Do you talk over the drone of accusation, come back at allegations? Liase,confront and silence the doubt?
How do you prevail?
Over chaos, over imperfection of the design with all its ugly, stark, irredeemable flaws? Do you count your blessings? Live day by day? Read that list of seven ways to…
How do you compare?
Are you better than some,or most? Are you convinced you deserve better? Or are you frugal, too poor to expect much from your own self?
How do you feel alright?
Do you reconcile? Do you rub your hands together for warmth; lie with a pillow between your thighs for comfort? Are you nocturnal, to dull the clarity of all that is true by day? Does the night have it that way?
Do you walk in a darkness, reassuring yourself it’ll never really know who walked by?
How do you come alive?
With the magic of second chances? The first rush of a smile dancing between your compunct lips? Without reason? With the sweet taste of chai spilling into your genetic predispositions? And revving up your mornings?
How? How do you live? How exactly do you love?