How to keep the code of silence? I don't remember how to exist without you,
my centre. We replaced parts of each other, held weight, dropped water; now we stay away and keep everything locked, try to camouflage in the emptiness of days.
We used to smoke cigarettes together, although sometimes in the morning I went out alone, sat on the balcony, thought my way through a maze of smoke. Thinking of ways to get around things, any way, every day. I had to hold out, you had to hold in.
Smoking together, we shared solitude. We still share it. Even without speaking, we share. I try not to forget your touch, your wide eyes opening to the morning. The sun cutting the window, draws a curved line on your curved back. This returns to me.
Our morning was always forced, hasty, but agile. We needed to keep our heads,
measure time carefully. We avoided intercepting one another.
Keeping out of each other. Sometimes we shouted our pain: these were warnings.
On the weekends there was my coffee, I made you breakfast, you were huddled in
sheets, lips quivering slightly. Asleep, moaning. My love was never lighter than this. I was glad to have created something for you, though it was only food, and wasted.
Lies from behind me remind me. Once your wings were clipped. You were angelic.
Now that the midst of night encloses, a dead dream ensues. Seated on the sand, the sun washes my eyes, the waves thunder homeward. We are speaking, but we lie.
I wait. I watch the night progress, I follow the moon, as it searches for someone or something. A torch to look into the corners of our life. This joint I hold, now, is my torch. In my head, I reach the church. The choir sings memories, uplifting.
It is Christmas soon. Last year we came through Christmas together. I will be spending Christmas alone. I will awaken, make coffee, figure another plan over a cigarette. I was always waiting, you were always watching me wait. For this.
This was our agreement: silence, to go cold, to complete, and close. The door into my room swings like a pendulum, the wind is entering. I let it come.
[ 16 December 2002: Message edited by: WordyOne ]
my centre. We replaced parts of each other, held weight, dropped water; now we stay away and keep everything locked, try to camouflage in the emptiness of days.
We used to smoke cigarettes together, although sometimes in the morning I went out alone, sat on the balcony, thought my way through a maze of smoke. Thinking of ways to get around things, any way, every day. I had to hold out, you had to hold in.
Smoking together, we shared solitude. We still share it. Even without speaking, we share. I try not to forget your touch, your wide eyes opening to the morning. The sun cutting the window, draws a curved line on your curved back. This returns to me.
Our morning was always forced, hasty, but agile. We needed to keep our heads,
measure time carefully. We avoided intercepting one another.
Keeping out of each other. Sometimes we shouted our pain: these were warnings.
On the weekends there was my coffee, I made you breakfast, you were huddled in
sheets, lips quivering slightly. Asleep, moaning. My love was never lighter than this. I was glad to have created something for you, though it was only food, and wasted.
Lies from behind me remind me. Once your wings were clipped. You were angelic.
Now that the midst of night encloses, a dead dream ensues. Seated on the sand, the sun washes my eyes, the waves thunder homeward. We are speaking, but we lie.
I wait. I watch the night progress, I follow the moon, as it searches for someone or something. A torch to look into the corners of our life. This joint I hold, now, is my torch. In my head, I reach the church. The choir sings memories, uplifting.
It is Christmas soon. Last year we came through Christmas together. I will be spending Christmas alone. I will awaken, make coffee, figure another plan over a cigarette. I was always waiting, you were always watching me wait. For this.
This was our agreement: silence, to go cold, to complete, and close. The door into my room swings like a pendulum, the wind is entering. I let it come.
[ 16 December 2002: Message edited by: WordyOne ]
