Close

And as the sound of rain cast over,

the loneliest night,
I had seen in ages,

I wondered;

What were we now,

that the stitches had finally been,
cast off.

Forever sewn between the moments we longed for,

wrapped around 
the indifferent,
 milky,
neck of time.

Around and around and around. 

No more fighting he said.

And I knew it was over.

Because fighting is all there is,

in the war of love.

My fishy gills.

His feathered wings.

And all the space that exists between them.

So much love for one another,

with one eye facing up,

out of the distorting water.

I could have lived,

forever in the moment,

when his laundry soaked my hands,

in the grime

of his hard won days.

Coming clean on the line,

night after night.

And with the rain coming down,

I became less lonely,

remembering the smell 

of skin,

and hair

and blankets. 

Remembering the way

it feels to be loved,

as one loves pure reason.

Sickly.

Powerful.

All encompassing love.

And how close we came,

to having it.

Forward

Amidst these broken towers, these relics of Babylon, a soul lives. I know it through the expressive way it licks the empty remnants these empty eye sockets. The experience of all things as things – and metaphor -congruently hungry, adding sweetness to desire.

Passion is the fruit of absence and abundance.

Freedom is knowing I don't have to protect what is infallible.

Joy and Vision and Empathy.

Running with the spark. Setting fires in the days, extinguishing them in sleep.

Waiting away harm.

Lost inside the beggars pantomime.

Awaiting twilight coolness,

to dim the flame.

I am still here. Whole, complete and unmarred. On foot in, one eye out. Not blind to the gypsy crowd gathering behind me. Navigating new mental territories, still map-less and coming up fine. Lipstick ready on he banks of the Brisbane River.

Better left to let the bleed cover the tracks.

There's no way out but forward.