beneath asphyxiating tongue
and dress,
we lean on people like banisters
when we should just sit and
undo our own
feel our lungs expand.
we stay heaving

like this is the first day God said
ok now breathe
and we’ve never even tried that
because we are just babies
so we’re gasping
and grasping for chests
that look like a womb,
or home or a tomb.
they are the same to me.

some concave bodies
collapsing into each other’s history
of war     some discussion of
scar tissue and
black cohosh when we
fucked to get the battle out
but once we
birthed a storm-
so that was aborted.
some managed self beratement,
some idea of each other’s self hatred
and neglect of others;
those we broke with stifled rage,
interminable disorder we hid under
elegiac prose,
Cheshire gaze.
before our fear of purpose mounted
and our general distrust of us
we had an
elusive non-egoic love
where the two of us recognized that
               only in this moment
there was a full moon, some lilac
wafting through the air
and the other was enough.

I am almost undressed.
you tousle my hair.

I have moments I hold onto,
not people: precisely
thirty seconds of silence and
touch I experienced once
near a window.
there was no story inside of me.
and if it ever does happen again;
the unalloyed joy near the window–
I would remove another layer and
put my trust in luck.

“door #2”


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s