Saturday, January 7, 2017

Untitled

I love to watch the way his body moves
I like to see the plates of bone within his back
Flex into a seamless crease above his spine
The shifting of the cords that bind his shape
I like the branches that rest under his neck 
From which he hangs the bell that holds his heart 
When it rings I feel it in my breath 
Because I see it in his eyes
Fluttering like the wings of moths
Shimmers of iridescence and the memory of midnight
It threads through me in a tightening embroidery 
I could feast eternal on that moment
My eyes devouring his 
Without his knowing he has become
the dagger in my breast that severs me
I watch his hands as they shift and tense
The line of his neck, that place I could bury myself 
I watch, waiting for him to break
Give himself away in a glance or a smile
Some unguarded elusive ruptured suture
And he'd shuck his skin like coils of birch bark
Let himself unbind unravel and peel off in layers to rest at my feet
So bare that I can see inside him
Presenting a core of being to which I could press myself 
Like a flower among his pages
A moment where he is nothing but what he is
And I would know it like I know the coursing of my blood
The singing of the spheres
A truth unintentionally and so softly given
Piercing and momentous and tiny and frail
Painted on his body in the way the surf engulfs the shore

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