Tuesday, 22 March 2011

An Even Sadness

I returned to what we had called our bed, as we had called it ours with our others too. I remember brushing the cobwebs off our decadent bodies, spinning songs into nails, and writing stories with strands of air. You played with my hair as I blew a short tune into your heart; Do-Mi-So it went. I spoke to you in triads through our nights, but you listened only in pictures and feelings. We should have known that was a sign, but we were blind. We were young. We were content to walk as each other's shadows, hiding in the sun. When contentment turned to insufficiency, we will never know for certain, my dear. But I know, as you know, that when we woke up with our others, we were not surprised. The stars had it read to us as we slept, but without the image and its melody, we did not care to pay attention.

Losing ourselves in each other's eyes was when we lost ourselves to ourselves. Finding ourselves, it turns out, is a frightening trial of faith, a faith neither of us seems to hope to find.

Wednesday, 9 March 2011

Fake Names

She called it lust. I spelled it L I B E R A T I O N. We kissed softly, reminding ourselves of who we belonged to, but remembering that this moment, at least, was ours alone.


We let our clothes tangle on the bed, the floor, and all about us, if only it means that our hearts will fold perfectly when we throb into each other, and share the foul tastes of this world within blinks of the twilight dawn.

When she wakes up, I'll be gone.
At least I have loved her, if only for a night.
At least I'll be able to say, I once lived in spite of who I was, and who I will be forever more.