"than remembered half-completely".
I felt all I ever felt was half
of what any being ever had feeling for,
On this skin, Of this blood.
With eyes like an alien,
with dreams like constellations,
I only want to collect
in star-brilliant luminescence
bask in the light of love
joy
kindred.
It's pushed too far,
the game of touch and go
of dodging eyes
and joking lightly of
serious things.
But I'm as deep as the ocean,
as light as the sky.
Satire and sarcasm, just
lost on my comprehension,
my wide open eyes
naive as a childs'.
And now you've left.
I smell your scent,
I feel the heat still murmuring
upon my sides,
my skin,
each touch a blue-print
in heat-maps
of which thought wandered where,
as fingers walked
an uncertain, untraveled road.
I tested you, with each closed-lidded smile,
giving you the permission to watch my
expression;
opening my mind to you,
wishing you'd guess, -even
when wrong in your assumptions.
The game -as we call it, for what else
can be metaphorized
to mime rules being broken-
played by children,
or maybe one child; I, as a girl,
pretending there are no reasons
not to, and no reasons to;
the defense and the offense broken to pieces;
the neutrality subtle, submerged, patient,
or perhaps I just don't want to break the moment.
The step before, where you were a stranger,
was hard to get past.
But the step between
-where friends become lovers-
is too much to risk,
and too familiar to fear anymore,
which leaves not much more than
'a girlish coquette should act
with such morals
as the Church, the State,
the Society taught her';
"Behave, Behave" but I've forgotten
all rules, and burned the playbook.
I fall down each mountain,
I slide down each slope,
I slip underwater,
I let myself be buried by ground,
by autumn leaves;
dreaming.
Don't feel strange to leave.
Be fed-up with playing.
The battle-field of life is tiresome;
when there is strain in love-
making to mirages,
when the whisper of muses
who listen to wingbeats,
give up the fight;
there are sweeter fruits -but
mine are all foreign as the sky above.
Where electricity dwells, where eyes have words,
where touching is primitive; I feel you from
here.
But I won't get up,
and rather not move.
Lift me gently, part me,
kiss my forehead in leaving,
and gently close the door.
Leave the music playing;
let the strung-lights twinkle,
let yourself out.
I want to be left to dream;
I know you've gone, waking.
I know the spell is broke,
but I am still here,
in the delicate web
of your scent,
and your warmth,
I am silent,
my feelings familiar and knowing,
my eyes heavy lidded,
vision-filled, swimming
with spells of
sweet dreams.
You have gone.
I am silent, my feelings familiar and knowing...
my eyes heavy-lidded, vision-filled, swimming...
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