Fingers crossed behind my back, I promised myself I believed in miracles
I made a choice. And then spring came with a cool breeze and sunlight (winter was gone) and I wondered if I had made a mistake -
the kind of short-sighted blunder that romantic heroines pursue, only to come running back at the twelfth hour.
No, he will never chase me.
(I have to keep reminding myself of this simple and complicated fact.)
The humidity is almost unbearable now, but I'm holding out on the a/c for a while longer. He lets me lay close in the dark, even though he is too hot for covers.
He touches my spine, tracing the space between ribs. Rolling on my back, my leg draped over his - I pretend not to notice as his hands brush ever so slightly closer with each breathless, finger painted circle. He waits for me to invite him deeper and obliges when I cover his hand with mine, working softly to a place outside of my skin. He knows I cannot be saved but he pushes inside of me with a heart full of mercy so that I may at least forget long enough to drop off the edge of sleep.
carefully cupping a tremulous heart with blood feathers
caging its writhing muscle inside angular confines of pink bone
slippery pieces, thick with asphyxiation, slump against one another
and every involuntary pulse threatens outright dismemberment
firmly callused fingertips freshen indolent wounds that will never heal
because they have sprouted deep between the root of survival and my solar plexus
a low-lidded third eye stoically observes from above while viscus drips across barren hips
and it is all I can do to just breathe
haplessly peel back layers hopelessly papered to someone else's walls
salvaging star-crossed hands to prevent purple offal from colliding with silk
plucked from beneath tenuously timid toes as this chest lurches forward
and stumbles along to a whimpering score of weakly gurgling flow
(on the bright side, there is no chance of falling if you never bore full weight)
Disquiet nights and thoughtless turbulence -
- it leaves me blinking into the grainy darkness.
There are three boys in my bed (twelve legs between us).
If I am careful, no one will be the wiser.
It's 3AM and "trying" to sleep is a perfect example of futility.
Yesterday afternoon I hit a wall. Expecting to stumble heavy and dormant into sleep ends with nothing but disappointment . Energy reserves caked with torpor invite only vague disinterest in going the "extra mile."
I need my clock to reset.
-- One final job interview. Did you know these things take three days? THREE DAYS.
That's three days of being "on." Being "charming." Being "engaged." Being attentive, and thoughtful, interested
But how can I be interested (and interesting) when all I want in the world is to know what in the world I want?
We are so glad to have you. He reaches for my hand. Welcome back.