Dream strata

From Trophy White Bird 

 

 

I fly above forests high into black night.  You and I play our Russian roulette but with toy pistols pacing the distance between us, marking territory in our minds. This growth between us is slow and cellular, you are better at it than I am, more sure of the map, aware of a destination, maybe it’s because I know there is no destination, only broken pathways, disused tracks.  I like to lay my head on your shoulder close my eyes, rock gently while stroking the soft firm flesh of your back.  You drive me insane with your measured phrases, deadlines and designations but your letters written at 4.am. from a whisky brain leave me breathless, page upon page of intimate thoughts and phrases, so intimate my heart turns in my chest leaving an unknown pain. :

I look at you; love is a filter cleaning impurities disguising glaciers. We are old friends now on an angled cliff with the sea jousting in front of us, a New England sea spread with turquoise, you show me the colours of your thoughts and I embrace them, give them form.  There’s nothing to stop us from flying away, in this filtered air, from flying away, running hand in hand through copper woods: except the effigy of time that’s printed an expiry date on my shoulder where you can’t erase it.  We are sitting at a table drinking wine, you are silent, your white shirt crisply pulled down over your slender wrists. Two glasses of red wine, sediment sticks to crystal, tongue holds heaviness of the grape, of sun and rain that grew this.   The scene changes and we are walking hand in hand around a public park, the lake is frozen and sun glints off iced patches of water, crazy paving the surface where fowl slide graciously.  Families perambulate muffled children faces itchy red with the cold.  I remember spending time with you here, wanting the moments to linger into hours and the hours into days when we were not lost to the world.  Now we’re truly lost to the world. The sun is a pale spotlight in the ceiling of a winter sky, if I hold my breath I can see spring poised beneath the harsh earth.  I catch this light; hug it to me to ease the encroaching twilight.

 

 

You asked me to leave you alone until you contact me , but maybe I should leave you alone permanently oh my beloved, before I stumble down the well worn path to dependency. You once said that you didn’t want to be accountable but the smallest atom, split, can destroy a world.   There’s no peace in the night when we are apart, there’s no peace in the night when we are together, and we struggle with the definition of words searching for a meaning each of us caught in our own tunnel vision. 

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