Wrap me in a winter night.
I am not cold, it isn’t winter, I just can’t let my skin touch yours.
I cannot let the wind let go of space that is still there between our thighs.
I do not want to spend the nights, I do not like to waste the days in
daylight I once had faith it would hold me longer than darkness,
but then it went away and learned the emptiness of betrayal from its parallel.
I inhale smoke, your thoughts are cigarettes I do not want to burn.
But I do,
it is the temporary beauty of your mind that holds me,
it is the only way I can be in the company of your
ideas.
They are the breeze that move the swings but never let them creak.
But my mind,
it creaks,
its emptiness is air
that feeds that lustful fire,
a desire
to be.
It wakes me far after twelve,
and leaves me hanging till next day’s noon,
it is the twilight that never sheds its light, it is the broken
afternoons.
I am a china doll, so let me drop and crash and fall,
for after all,
it is the only way to be,
un-free,
in a world where free is chained with possibilities.
I am the face of your last dream,
it runs away, you chase the thought of it across your memory,
and then you let it be,
unchanged; un-free.
Your thoughts they rant, their voice sounds so familiar to me.
It is the holy embrace like that of God when he came last time to un-visit me in sleep,
he let me wake from his own dream, and didn’t think to sit with me.
I felt a rush, something velvet, like the torn curtain drapes of your half-built balcony,
the one I always ran towards and then fell short of thought to complete.
I’m falling through the walls, they do not cement me,
A sound that goes like the Plathian brag “I am, I am, I am,”
but all I am is your misery.
beyond 