Awake and conscious about that which is not kept.
At the base
Of the door.
It’s been three straight days
Maybe my body wants to be awake
Waiting for her.
Maybe I’ll go out and have a cigarette to calm her.
She came to me when I was half asleep
Her body calls me to look.
She knows just how to move.
She is determined to move just so.
Embracing me from the inside.
She might chisel her way into existence
She might be Nature chuckling back at herself
Who completes you?
And this is the story:
3am casts these philosophies into horses,
whipping them into shape and speed
Before the eyes of this voyeur.
Thinking swiftly, I rode to you. My bag of pears turned to parrots repeating happy, happy, happy . . .
Hmm.. just like the weather of childhood, where it’s snowing forever.
Run run run. I’ve exhausted my efforts to exhaust.
But what they want to know is pain.
That moment when follicles squeeze through skin,
fingernails bleed to claws.
But she is beautiful. Electrifying. Lucid.
Chest breasted in the silkiest fur that ruffles ever so easy. With each step she dances, barely touching the ground. Every muscle in the body ensuring each movement is effortless. Claws for climbing, running and jumping but not fighting are nestled away. Every cell is soaked in anticipation. Tail that trots along the rhythm of her strut.
Just the tip.
There is a moment when she seems to disappear.
Nothing remains, but a quiver in the air,
And her invisible finger
That runs down the ridge of my spine
I run towards her, tripping over fallen heroes
Where are you now, Morpheus?
I don’t need you anymore.
I don’t need stimulants, gods, food, rest
I’m a perfect fool.
She will give you everything you need
All the energy you need.
Each morning is like
You’ve been in the desert all year.
You’re gulping her up out of a crystal glass.
Only to realize you’ve been swallowing your last breaths of air and she is the deep waters of the ocean that you are submerged in.
I try to think of her
But no words explain or contain her fully.
You can’t translate something that was never a language in the first place.
When I try not to think of her, there she is.
She is like how dessert always slips in between the gaps of christmas dinner.
That sweet sweet velvet vanilla
sliding through the cracks of existence.
You’ll always be able to be.