and this is how we are
when the hurricane hits
when our ears clamour with nothing
but raving water.
just enraged water.
this is how we are
when we behold a flowing, soothing body
morph into something ferocious, unforgiving
when we realize how it can flush us out of the tiniest parts of ourselves
till they can no longer find us
in the crevices
that line our palms,
that dimple our navels,
that wrinkle our skin
until we are completely rinsed out
and there is no more us left in us
until our veins burst with diluted blood
until we are nothing. just bloated, floating existence.
until we are nothing. just raw, pulpy vacuum.
i would have preferred to remain as i was—
a brewing storm;
but a storm at least
brewing at least
alive, at least.
in the belly of the night
the moon found me
on the very edge of existence.
she pulled me gently into her soul
what does your body know
it takes a different kind of courage
to fall in love with how infinitely impossible
it is to understand everything.
to be at peace
with knowing that not all things
are meant to be known,
his eyes were always hollow when they kissed
his pupils, darkened, dilated,
pulsing with blackhole-like energy..
he was empty.
thirsting for any traces of God it could find
on her lips, at the back of her throat,
on her neck, her breasts,
in her navel..
he was deteriorating.
"and i have lots of myself to spare,"
she would purr.
he said she had an unearthly savour
that was so potent
it left spasms in him
that his brain could mistake for signs of life,
and that was good enough for him.
he always went back.
as for his crazed searches for God
on every inch,
every cranny in her body..
"don’t sstop. it feels sso goood,"
she would gasp.
that was all she cared for.
and collect into pools of silence
in the depression of your collar bones
waiting to seep into your throat
imbue all you will ever say
with all of me somehow
drench your voice, before it escapes you,
with presence of my lust
there are times
when i cannot in good faith
offer cups of myself
no matter the height of their
thirst for me,
no matter the breadth of pleasure
they promise me in return
for sip of me.
i see more of myself than they do
naive and unseeing in their lust
they do not know
that my aftertaste is more overpowering
than anything they could ever taste
they would drown
you sit at a restaurant
wine in glass
completely aware that
ten breaths across from you
sits the love of your life
the wielder of your heart
the razor in your chest
the ache between your thighs
he is leaving
you are still
in the process of realizing this
like sudden drops of blood
leaking onto your palm
from the ceiling
you are not sure what is happening,
but you are already panicking
your neck is tense
your lips, a sharp line
the air is shrinking away from you
tiptoeing away from you
i mean, it’s awkward
there is not enough space
in any given second
to contain the mass of words swelling inside your throat,
he is leaving.
you do not feel betrayed.
just raw. like you no longer have skin.
like there are wounds in your wounds.
like flesh soaked in vinegar.
but anyway, before it’s too late:
crook of neck.
birthmark on right earlobe.
flutter in lashes.
splinter in brow.
phantom in iris.
judas in the set of his jaw
you study your lover
committing every swollen breath
committing sins against your soul—
like loving too deeply a man
whose deepest feeling toward you was
a man whose deepest ache for you was
in his groin.
a man who found it possible—easy even
to just leave.
you study him
committing to memory
every gradient of your anguish
as you stumble along this process of realizing
you appear calm,
licking wine off your lips,
fingers pressed against rim of wine glass.
he is gone.
and you are becoming.
you vow never to forget
when the sun outstretches its arms
when your tongue dissolves into sand
from the intensity of its loving unrestraint
run into its scorching embrace
tuck yourself inside its face
and melt in surrender
it is not about you.
it has never been about you.