Pending doom of realisations! Hangs heavy, curdling the air like weird dairy products, aspyhxiating through air conditioning and convection heaters. Ticking clocks, long haunting dreams like an old TV serial, just waiting for the end to come and sweep us all away, and dancing with arms and arms only, and mouths an awkward splutter through evacuation from the bowels of Godhead. Like crooked and desperate lovers our lips meet again as the rain comes to wash my murky vest, murky with the life of another, and you and your soft linen trousers, and I make car noises because I never learned to drive, and steer my imaginary wheel to edge the world, and fall with breathless abandon and butterfly-tummy into the perils of ourselves, so far away.
The preoccupation of the endless grassway to the crest our crest, and salt tastes my lips and methodically perforates my elephantine fingers - textural consistency and never bulk - and so thrust powers through cracked circular wicker baskets in thrift shops piled carelessly with such careful postcards, other memories from other lives that really are our own and become one with us through our visits and our fictions and the poetry we never write and refuse to at that, and so with diamonds blazing sparkling over left hands and right hands we initiate tearful plans, tearful because there can only be so much joy before it overflows, and in the grey afternoon light our souls pour loose, one into the other, and we kiss until the night time.
No comments:
Post a Comment