Godspeed
I carry this image of you resting there naked. It is dark. I can barely see the lines of you pulled together. I sketch the rise and fall of your chest and match my breathing to yours. I like you like this, I say. Un-guarded. Un-tongued with open ribcage and arms by your side. You are enough.
There is always morning, though. And as the sun ascends, I see now, shell and bone forming again, moving swiftly from the tips of your toes up your shoulder blade. In moments, you will be apart from me.
In the full light of day, I am lost. I can only guess at who you are. I stumble around with my heart in my hands.
Afraid. Yes, always afraid, that under the sheer weight of my ignorance, my blindness--you, I, we, will collapse
before night can come again.
Godspeed.
There is always morning, though. And as the sun ascends, I see now, shell and bone forming again, moving swiftly from the tips of your toes up your shoulder blade. In moments, you will be apart from me.
In the full light of day, I am lost. I can only guess at who you are. I stumble around with my heart in my hands.
Afraid. Yes, always afraid, that under the sheer weight of my ignorance, my blindness--you, I, we, will collapse
before night can come again.
Godspeed.
