it's as if we're dangling over a cliff
certain that the bottom will come to meet us. But what if
what's been down went up// while you slept silently in bed, the rest of the world laid claim to the sea, breathed its aqua air, exhaled balloons the color of Belgian tulips
and made friends with the wind? Like an odd man out in a self-directed play
one of us climbed a ladder to the moon, drawn to the stars with the knowledge that 16 hour prior,
we'd had our eyebrows waxed. Obsessed with the little things, unable to grasp the tremendous truth in a single set of arms. And yet, plain-as-day realities are hidden beneath crinoline, linen chambers, and behind expressions trapped only in technology's wide clamp.
We hide secrets in ourselves, to be revealed when they so choose.
No word more absurd than
tomorrow.
You had your own suitcase
ReplyDeleteAnd, it had it's own clothes.
And I'll be your West Coast,
Where I'm never alone.
Breathing in the ocean,
Zen body out to sea.
There was an eye upon you,
Pacific camera queen.
But the song broke-
You mask it, or your try,
Your sighs with wardrobes.
Qualifying mysteries.
Surreptitiously you flee with a delicate touch.
So many wounds to heal.
Yet a fool to move within it.
Effortlessly. Insouciant.
Another glass of wine, a resin portrait.
And the dust settles on the rim, flicked away and half forgotten.
Like strangers passing on a sidewalk, branching lifelines brushed off by petticoats.
And the band begins to play-
Suns to corrupt and steal on
a bright California day.
And we quietly, linger, in pauses between breathes.
But.
This time never rose, and never will, however brief a secret.
I acknowledge this beauty.