Everlasting true and special – the way it is in the beginning – you and me in a garden – praying like mantis – hallucinating like nightshade – loving each other like pillows – bending our wills like knees to the task of reaching down to find the undefinable – last night a vagabond, last night a guitar strum, last night a dove flying to another cooing crazy and instigating laughter.
At the store shopping for groceries, you read labels through occluded and scotch taped glasses, wanting only what is best to include in a rumbling refrigerator already too full of father prophesies and mother complexities.
We think purple but act blue and want to be accused of cross dressing back and forth over our families belief barriers saying, “I wish I could want what I think I can’t have” – and are confused all over again when someone says “but of course you can.”
In private you oil your body big or small black or white and secretly send compromised pictures of your true self to newspaper editorial departments – annotating dairy entries so that your expose will be more properly written.
Demand that someone help you retrieve and reveal one or more of your carefully crafted flaws.
Be passionate about this – insist that it is only through a collision of flaws that our intentions about love and longing become believable. Say after gathering a gust of wind into your throat, “I have waited a long time to tell you something about me…take a sip of tea and listen, and then and only then may you speak freely.”