When you were once so here and here is lost to imagery.
Water drops let the taste of your...smile, lips closed, vanilla cinnamon, and a chocolate croissant in the morning.
While you spoke and were pointed, sharp, and the trail tuppers out, imarginary, brown and red, soft blonde, tripled and die-torn. A skirmish netted to a time or a place when I couldn’t kiss you because I held back with excuses after you kissed me or your neck with fingers through knots and a shower, a shower was a wand awarded, for the snow was falling in the valley and across the way…across the way, the peaks were shrouded in fog.
But candles lit a black room rose and smoke lost in other words, entering other rooms caused course carved orange to smash and to smash and to remember the chords that never held another sway. Letters received and letters resent, remembered once broken and I, I, I, I, I can’t remember who uttered those words first.
Desolate streets in a car with muddy snow around, or lagunita, adobe rebuilt in courtyards like old Italian lovers in the season when flowers fall red and you read my fingers again. Night after night with no strong remembrances, a song, unsung, like tunneled eyes unstrung a mind, did you mind? Did you mind? Did I mind? I can’t remember once again. Can’t even begin to again.
But it was all right, all of it, so long as I was welcome, I was there, I was allowed in, I was permitted to stay, but you? Where were you in all of it? Was that where I was for her with the sheepbled eyes? Episode after repetisode, differing skins. Who was present for that formal exchange of hearts?
Is it wanting? Was there ever any time? Were there rules overlooked, like broken meters:
A bruised orange across a wall
A harried gasp before the fall
A soft catch against a post
A world at large, a missing host
A chance imbibe to meet a match
A brick back cracking to chicken scratch
So once again the motor moans
And fires blank to repay loans
And distance breeds a love unknown
Constricted throats replete to groan
Here, too late, I whisper yes. Yes to you and yes to us but who then is this writing for? Writing written like a score. Break. You who smiled on the water, you who bent back through the water, you who held me in like water, you who knew me so well as to never pay a blink back to rotten days of snowboard punk and childish ways, who could not be shown but on film when times were changing and Woody Allen was too much for him so we changed gears like bloody sheets, and you looked up twice apocalypse through redding sheets and you never took a moment to read a single page of heart and time and no wonder you fucking walked away, no wonder the wonder was lost - when you don’t look any deeper, the surface always stays the same and no wonder you lost the feel because distance is everything for a heart a hole a missing flake of snow lost somewhere beyond the blizzard and no wonder you never remember to check in on a promise of a time that could never have been real. I would have come found you, I would have come stayed, I would have come married our ti-
Shall we now begin again, a hollowed mind enclasped in sin. To just have tried. To have tried. To have tried and to have failed, but to have tried.
I look up for a moment. Profit and loss. A naval burned through, for if looks could kill…it could not be more real. A way to lone, to snuff the flickering fire of a canticle, circlescribed. Written around a loop. Was it ever worth a consideration as such? Failure, uncoded. Aerialwritten again with thou mayest and Shem, or was it Shaun? Who knew the nomenclatures all too well. Who knew? Colt 45 is the name of a gun. It is also the name of a 40 ounce bottle of malt liquor. Darwin was right. Ha ha he he and ho ho ho. Merry Christ mass.
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