Memory

For S

The weight of the rain cripples the name
of a person in a place
you swore never to forget or
                             let the silence
& the songs & the long moments
of hands twisting time with bodies
entwined in nights we wish would never die,
            dissapear:

yet all things must eventually fade away

but time hasn’t taken us yet & so
                            there’s no reason
to forget everything even as we
let go of what once was.

Some nights we cannot see the Moon,
but during others it’s
                       dignified light
repeats the silver nights
precluding the golden mornings
bathing, deluded
& content.

“on peut pas vivre d’amour et d’eau fraich”

Remember?

We were in the sunlight

& then when
            I awoke
the morning light made me choke as
I remembered
how the gentle susurration blended
with the birdsong & the light
curved like the branches above us
to touch.
        briefly,
skin within which poison blends with pollen
& flowers blossom before I pluck them
to place in your hair where
they will wither & die.

The past still lingers in the present,
& refuses to die with the grace
of living things.

Is this why I regret everything?

Anamnesis

So many rooms in so many houses;
spaces within which the walls have waited,
        unseeing,
                uncaring,
as I played various roles
in minor dramas, some
of my own devising,
                some not,
        & most
being incomplete.

So many days wanting to stay away
from this mess, this reluctance;
                the daydream
of purposeful action
abandoning us with
                every movement
around the Sun.

The fragility of
                everything;
inevitable entropy
& we,
                the animals
that will not be themselves,
capable of knowing all this
wait
while words emerge to seek
a story worthy of acknowledging
                    that beneath
every surface
something waits
to be
            misunderstood.

Either serendipitous or fucked up:

The choice is yours.

The choice is mine,
           
            & I
                    can’t decide…

Harmonic Shivers

For S

The heart is only an organ:
anthropomorphisation of the flesh
is just another lie
                   but
poetry doesn’t need truth:

My heart speaks to you
& my skin dreams of you.
Harmonic shivers* slither up my spine
whenever I think of all those times we
spent together.

My fingertips have memories
of what we did to each other;
my liver is in mourning, my
veins keep flowing
     as my spine
                is shivering.

* Shivers – Against Me!

Élégiaque

For A

I no longer see why I should try not to relent
when the instinct kicks in:
fight or flight will never be a choice for
creatures like me:

some mammals just freeze…

but anyway,
please go ahead & tell me
about the problems
that weigh you down;

                    tell me about
the rivals who now also know
the sweet taste of your mouth,
                            & the others
that now know the secrets you hide inside…

Without you,
I see no reason not to think about
the old city & about
that lost life all the time:

a bride deprived of sensation & sight
after the bitter disappointment of
                                another dismal,
cliché wedding night,
through the senseless everything
I want to run,
              run,
run
      away
into
the bathetic,
self-inflicted
fuck up
of oblivion,

longing to forget everything,
except a dream I think I once had