You

If I sit very still, can I watch you undress?

If I stapled my feelings to my sleeves and let them hang off me like cut puppet strings,

would you still watch me get dressed?

but I-

but you, are just a landscape of pale skin stretched over white bones.

I could spend my days skimming, drifting, with my fingertips across the dry ice of your subtle flesh.

But I-

just you, with your technicolour eyes that hypnotize the light of a thousand irises that form our compound mind.

I could cut you off and let you fall, let you float away.

I would blink and you’d be gone in a swirl of historical mist

and then eventually it will just be a memory of a feeling and presidents would debate if the feeling was ever really real.

We could get married. To different people.

But I-

and you will sit across a chess match of desire and sing the hopeless phrases to mobsters and gods and any one who will listen because I have something to say and you,

just you,

are not listening.

But I-

just you.

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5 comments

  1. tina5458 · · Reply

    Love that!

  2. You are remarkable. And I feel so privileged to share this space with you – to be able to read your words. Thank you for being with us. Write, write, write…. write as if your very life depends on it. You were born to write.

  3. has a kinda neruda feel to it. melancholy. awesome

  4. awesome, it floats and hovers and never goes away. this feeling that the writer sees all…

  5. Love the dry ice of subtle flesh.

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