Post with 1 note
its funny how a day can go
from good to gray
and back again like a gradient.
how, when you said you caught me bird watching
i was only trying to hear some new music
and if its warm enough now for hearts to settle
with butterflies in stomachs
then your golden curls can dance
a duet with spot-lit dust.
so he asks himself: how does the air have the nerve?—
the answer: because she wants it to.
what is meant to be
my mother taught me
is a redundancy.
so if it is warm enough
for hearts to settle
it is warm enough for silk cocoons
and tissue paper covers for old wounds:
strong enough to greet the day
(or weak enough to fear it)
quick enough to make a change
(or take a year to do it)
but after this storm passes
i will still be here,
picking up fallen fractions
the divisions of desire
the simple pieces left behind
like eyes closed in the dark,
because the blind don’t see nothing,
they see the space behind their heads
and if i am supposed to feel nothing
then it goes against everything I’ve ever read.
you came to me like an air raid siren
so first, i had to learn to duck and cover.
but I promise that when we’re alone,
i want to pull the air into my fingers
and scream a note in perfect unison
with the hum of your body.
i have been told that nothing is perfect.
i know the sensation of no certainty.
i know the quiet conscience that talks back.
i know the meaning inside each pause in a whisper.
i know nothing is too perfect a word.
but darling, this is no garden of earthly delights,
this is a midnight neon street.
though you are a still greater eve than anyone i’ll ever meet.
i’ll struggle with prepositions and past participles
stumbling through worlds on walls
hoping each moment might be the greater than
the one I just left,
because mind cannot separate from body
or be lifted over matter as quickly
as one might think.
but there is a solution she tells me.
put more faith in people.
the same way
you do. and each moment
has weight until breaking
the same way everyone feels like faking
that they are the only people
who feel anything at all.
so i’m learning to go slowly
walk down snow covered streets
while the sun pokes through clouds
to warm my feet
taking each step in context of the one behind
until the tissue paper peels off like an orange rind
caught by some wind and lost;
but there is a riddle in each solution.
because if it’s warm enough now
for hearts to settle in absolution
then it’s warm enough to test my mettle
and start a revolution.
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