you listen
to the scribble of my pen on paper:
ardent, desperate, hot:
bird caged in barbed wire and wool,
fed ground coffee and coca leaves.
you listen
of my other loves:
none as big
none as beautiful, but just as real
and flitter
between me and sadness,
so that i don’t have to do it myself:
a mediator, a true constant.
you are the paper i write on,
carving words into the thick muscle of heart:
water is thinner than blood.
you are the dream I must have had
before you held me in the night.
you are. you are. you are.
what do i do now that i’ve loved you far too long, far too much? i’m weak, i have no fight left in me. surrounded by this new world in the land of medieval tales and robin hood, i look back to the times i didn’t yet love you and wonder, how the hell did i fall so far, so deep, so unprotected?
and wasn’t you the one meant to save me?
a sandwich always lands butter side down; my loves always land like this: an aeroplane falling head on into a liquid abyss. sink or swim. the choice is yours and i surrender.
with you, i learnt to understand the silence and words dry up on the tip of my tongue.
i had so much to say but all comes down to this: i’m nothing without you. don’t ask me why: i don’t quite know myself.
there was a line in streetcar named desire that i remember. it said it’s touching to notice them making their first discovery of love! As if nobody had ever known it before. it resonates, for now the time has come for the bud to be broken and flowers to bloom in the late-spring night air.
the risk is nothing. nothing, really. there are only the long sprawling afternoons this side of summer, when paper is scrunched up into tiny little balls and burnt with a magnifying glass or matches. whichever, the result is all that matters. words are nothing: this air requires action!
and there are trees, so beautiful this time of year. they remind me of walking to school in the summer and inhaling the scent of apple tree blossom with T. those were the days, eh?
but now, no now, those buds will open and blossom will scatter into the hands of a handsome young man that we choose. for me, this sweltering summer, it’ll be you. and, god willing (an expression i borrowed from an altogether more believing friend of mine), next summer also. for T (if we were boys, she’d be a brother from another mother) it will be someone else. Her new beau (a rather lovely Tenessee expression!). her very first. amazing stength and will and beauty.
so here we are, and isn’t it queer to think we shall be here always? in the arms of another, in the throes of spring, the coming summer alighting hopes in every single one of us, as if petards were thrown at the pavement before us, at our feet, at our willing young hearts?
and we can’t help this feeling hopeful. and we can’t pretend we didn’t want this life.
so every year, like clockwork, we will be discoving those cherry soda loves and shedding blossom in each other’s arms.
Posted in Uncategorized
Tagged action, afternoons, air, alight, all, also, altogether, always, amazing, another, apple, are, arms, balls, be, beau, beautiful, beauty, before, believing, bloom, blossom, borrowed, boys, broken, brother, bud, buds, burnt, can't, cherry, choose, clockwork, come, coming, days, desire, didn't, discovering, discovery, each, else, every, expression, feeling, feet, first, flowers, friend, from, glass, God, had, hands, handsome, hearts, help, her, here, hope, hopeful, hopes, in, inhaling, into, it, known, late, life, like, line, little, love, loves, magnifying, making, man, matches, matters, me, mine, more, mother, named, new, next, no, nobody, notice, now, one, open, other, our, paper, pavement, petards, poetry, pretend, prose, queer, rather, remember, remind, requires, resonate, result, said, scatter, scent, school, scrunched, shall, she, shedding, side, single, soda, someone, sprawling, spring, streetcar, strength, summer, sweltering, t, tenessee, their, them, there, think, this, those, throes, thrown, time, tiny, touching, tree, trees, up, us, very, walking, want, was, we, were, whichever, will, willing, with, words, year, you, young
i’ve decided, i won’t allow words to tear us all apart. and my pain shouldn’t matter. this pain is fleeting. and my heart will be beating into the next millenium, where loves bloom redder than cranberries in the bitter frost.
i said something important to you yesterday. via text. and i don’t know if you picked up on it. so many words get lost in translation from my world to yours.
i don’t believe that every little death brings one closer to life, but i do believe that every little love does.
and i have loved you inconsistently, wrongly asking you to love me as i wish. maybe you can’t love me with all the roses and the cards. maybe my loves are too extravagant for you. maybe i ask too much without the need for such. but i can dream.
and i will dream. in silence.
my dreams will burn and burn.
for three weeks at the very least, i’ll be perfect. and i won’t argue and i won’t bite.
so you can taste the cranberries as they were before the winter, so you can stop and wonder if i’m yours.
Posted in chapters of my life
Tagged all, allow, apart, argue, as, ask, asking, beat, before, believe, bite, bitter, bloom, brings, burn, can, cards, closer, cranberries, death, decide, does, dream, every, extravagant, fleeting, from, frost, get, heart, if, important, inconsistently, into, it, know, least, life, little, lost, love, loves, many, matter, maybe, millenium, much, my, need, next, on, one, pain, perfect, picked, prose, red, roses, said, should, silence, something, stop, such, taste, tear, text, than, they, this, three, to, too, translation, up, us, very, via, where, will, winter, wish, with, without, won't, wonder, words, world, wrongly, yesterday, you, yours
you are made of all your loves
like i am made of freshly mowed grass
scented candles
early morning dew
the passion in me
is the hope in you
the dreams i dream
are nightmares you can’t place
but
every time i see your face
i fall in love anew
not with sharp symmetry
but with the love in you
————————————————-
the world won’t ever stop because we want it to. love doesn’t metamorphose just because its broken. we are left with all the pieces. and the smell of freshly mowed grass.
how do you love me?
Posted in excerpts
Tagged all, am, anew, because, broken, but, can't, candles, dew, do, dream, dreams, early, every, face, fall, freshly, grass, hope, how, in, just, left, like, love, loves, made, me, metamorphose, morning, mowed, nightmares, not, passion, pieces, place, scented, see, sharp, smell, stop, symmetry, time, want, we, with, world, you, your
glittering soot on her eyelashes 