Anima

Dedicated to: The feminine side of my man

This morning I woke up

ripened to face our morning’s sun

ripped from a deep sleep

to wonders of me as your anima —

expressed in more ways and words

available to lines on this effervescent paper

or each lifetime handed to us.

How many times have you reported

that we were siblings in a lifetime long-gone

while on alternate days wishing

you knew me during my last adolescence

and how you would have taken me,

had your way with me on countryside roads

only to be left to our own devices

with our alien fantasies

as you were chased by barren bar mates

when returning to their fender-bashed cars.

At our sextagenarian age now

we cannot teach them those tricks

of a youth lost beside barren roadsides,

near unidentifiable road kill

in a world where minds are painted

with unfulfilled fantasies still condoned,

and like all nudes, bile seeps where

they crave a good night sleep

as they touch body parts

of completely naked strangers

in darkness of your anima night

bringing forth to elicit

who has been hiding inside its

dark corners for centuries of times gone past.

Remember how they unconsciously knew

as the anima sat across a table

begging for answers about living and giving.

You were my reason to fend off the dark side

nestled in your own contemplated death

given permission by the voices in your head

and the bright agent orange

of your dead sister’s past and the ghost

who continues to knock at your closed closet door.

under these conditions

do take your anima with you

Tucked under the security of your armpit

to places you once called home

at this very first moment

of that next life you are about to live.

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