I feel things.  I feel many things.  I feel things as I walk the streets.  Seeing the people hungry.  I feel things.  These things aren’t easy to put to words.  Feelings like this often are.  

Did you hear that?  It sounded like thunder.  No.  It’s not thunder.  It’s the sound of the car drum bass stereo outside my window.  It sings to me.  Like a little rotten bird, perched crooked-legged and backwards.  That’s that stereo or that car alarm.  That car alarm that barks at me to please come, please come make it stop. 

I went swimming today.  Right between your amygdala and your hippocampus.  I took a little trip you see.  I swam and I swam.  I swam to remember.  Further through the everglades I saw it.  Like a beacon in… the same way it should have been.  I saw it.  It saw me.  We saw it.  There was yellow and red and pink.  I saw it.  And it saw me.  I don’t always swim that far but I did today.  And I’m glad I did because it’s been a long time.  It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you in this light. 

If I had told you about the curtain it’s doubtful you would have believed me.  I’m faint for thinking of it otherwise but surely you must have seen this coming.  This warmth this exclusion you must have sensed it before.  I’ve mentioned it to you while you were sleeping.  I told you.  I closed my eyes and I saw it too.  I saw the way it held us.  That space where everything and nothing lives.  We dangled there for a minute.  I remember it.  I remember what it felt like.  I remember what it looked like.  I remember the weight of your words.  I remember you.  I’ve never forgotten.  You spoke to me once that nothing is ever lost if it ever really was at all.  And I’ve been thinking.  I’ve been thinking about that dream you had.  It was me.  It was you.  There was something about trees and something about an ocean.  And I remember the air and how it felt.  I was there.  You were there.  Not much day, not much night.  We were dangling there.  Suspended above your bed.  Nothing stopped us.  And I heard it.  I heard your breath and I heard your soul and I knew your soul was my soul.   Some part of it was mine.  You were mine.  I had never felt you.  I had never seen you.  But in that dream I finally tasted you.  In that dream that foretold of your face.  It spoke to me.  When I saw you it spoke to me.  And I’ve been hearing you ever since.   

There’s a point to all this, pal and I think you’re missing it.  I heard you the first time.  The point isn’t that there’s a right or a wrong.  The point is that the time always comes for the this or for the that.  And it’s that that that I’ve been thinking about.  You liked that?  No.  That’s okay I’m not sure I did either.  But I know this.  I like the way you look on me tonight buttercup floral top.  And I think I’ll wear you tomorrow.  To work.  With a small greyblack mini skirt.

How come the street always looks windier til you walk down it?  The sideways isn’t ever so sideaways and the backwards seems like it’s miles away.  I see forward.  I don’t see backwards.  Look at this son and look pretty tonight.  Tell the road what to do.  Tell the road where to go.  Nothing holds its hand but you.  So whisper if you have to but tell it right.  Tell it all the places you want to go and all the people you want to see when you get there.  Tell about the dozens of dimes it took and the thousands of thoughts of you but tell them and tell them truthful.  You never expected to see me standing here.  At the base of your bones to the core of all you’ve known.  You never expected it.  
But here I am.  Here I am.  So tell me, from this angle, does this dress make my butt look big?

 


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