If waking up cannot be a smooth transition from rest and complete surrender to movement, awareness and a world full of alive and distracting things
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I wrote this for a friend a few weeks ago. I like it. That is all.
Dearest Kathleen, with your eskimo eyes and scintillated legs, orgasm-flavoured hair and white-white words, with your ears like candied cherries that listen and whisper in the wind, rubbing stalks together the way that crickets make music, I dreamt of you in the bright cold morning, and my lips whispered your name as the sun rose to its zenith. I wished for a year with your hand held in mine, nothing more than the barest connection, bare like your breast on the third sunday of june when you kissed me, laughing in the wetness of that summer afternoon, and I wish now for that connection, held between us, to no longer be alone but to have you between me and the darkest evening where alone would be neverending. Your teeth clicking in the rose-flavoured darkness, like radar to lead me to your mouth and remind me of my reason for staying, I pray to one day again search for you in the black bedrooms of that summer palace. Be not afraid, dearest Kathleen, but hold your arms wide, and pray that I will again be there to commune with you, as I pray for the same. My dreams ache, for in them I am reminded that you are not near -- I dream of you each and every sugarless night. May our hands come together in the brightness of winter, and acknowledge love.
I like it.
That is all.
Dearest Kathleen,
with your eskimo eyes and scintillated legs,
orgasm-flavoured hair and white-white words,
with your ears like candied cherries that listen
and whisper in the wind, rubbing stalks together
the way that crickets make music,
I dreamt of you in the bright cold morning,
and my lips whispered your name as the sun rose to its zenith.
I wished for a year with your hand held in mine,
nothing more than the barest connection, bare
like your breast on the third sunday of june when you kissed me,
laughing in the wetness of that summer afternoon,
and I wish now for that connection, held between us,
to no longer be alone but to have you between me
and the darkest evening where alone would be neverending.
Your teeth clicking in the rose-flavoured darkness,
like radar to lead me to your mouth
and remind me of my reason for staying,
I pray to one day again search for you in the black bedrooms
of that summer palace. Be not afraid,
dearest Kathleen, but hold your arms wide,
and pray that I will again be there to commune with you,
as I pray for the same. My dreams ache,
for in them I am reminded that you are not near --
I dream of you each and every sugarless night.
May our hands come together in the brightness of winter,
and acknowledge love.
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