A Eulogy for the Dreams that Rain Upside Down.

Past to present tense, yes, that's the way I mean this piece to be written.

 

He traced regret with the tip of his thumb, our lives raced down the curves of my cheek, I wished to smile as my calves found comfort in the depths of his thighs and I wondered, in that moment, if skin could erase everything, if, somewhere, written in the corners of my tattoo, were secrets our hips whispered to each other at midnight...

The minutes I'd discovered hiding in his teeth were fortunate enough to taste my kiss~as sick as my lips were for the taste of tears~and dreams wasted themselves in the trembling of my voice, they died in the atmosphere that frightened me and I begged to just hold on...

one.

more.

time.

I'm blessed you know, ironically so, I see who I am when the mirrors break, glass shatters and never breaks my stride, but I'm on the floor in pieces, bitter with the blood of where I've been, I can't scream loud enough to escape myself, but he can...

he can do anything to me.

He's aware of my eyes, I know he's memorized the color of the sun, and I could sit, cross legged beside him for hours, if the wind could only translate his mind, brush by me with the way he stumbles...I don't know how to pick him up...

I've tried to save his fingerprints every time he's touched me, I'm desperate to understand this and I wonder if that's why I'm so confused, but he twists, you see, on Sunday mornings when I should follow the way it rains backwards and I count to three with the taste of his coffee and the clicking of mugs, swear to myself it's the

very.

last.

time.

as I lie, thanking mirrors for their distorted gratitude...

but he's skin, you know, aware the secrets my fingertips have whispered in the moments of perfection, he's the arms that hold hold me...

and I trace our lives with the crumpled, tear-stained letters

he'll never

see.

 

 

Reviews

[An owl on the moon]

The movement and emotion of your words always amazes me, how you create such a visually stunning world on a page. How I wish I had a book of yours and I would read it over and over until my own world captured the beauty and the sorrow of yours... Brilliant!

Craig