His words are fluid yet languid until
he changes tongues and becomes another
person entirely. His sounds become strong
and incomprehensible as he weaves
his way from language to language, dialect
to dialect. He is the manager
of worlds, the linguist. In his mind, his original
language is not his, for he is only
relaxed when amongst the foreign nature
of other languages. The rasping, uncommon
tongue of home is not comforting to him
anymore, so he will rapidly intake
other places until he finds another
sound that resonates within him.
I must have done something incredible
to deserve a friend like you. My karma
has finally aligned... or maybe it
is just luck. Before you, my head would hit
the pillow and I would beg for softness
to embrace me, to take me from this world
of barbed edges and harshly sketched faces
and into a place with beauty and wonder.
Now, softness awakes me. There are no jagged
lines or vacant expressions here, only
smoothness and blurred dots for daylight behind
the smiling face of future.
I smell the energy rising from you,
drifting swirls of vapour hitting me as
your heat embodies itself in the air's
molecules. I smell the importance of
you, significant to everyone except
me. You're a drug, coursing through their veins and
giving their brains exactly what they have
been craving, yet I am resistant to
your eniticing ways. The promise of that
electric focus as my heart picks up
the pace to follow everyone elses...
it doesn't appeal to me anymore.
I lost my hunger for you a long time
ago, when you started to wear me down,
and now the only drug I will ever
crave again is him.
Your white words are giving me nothing
but the deepest teals and greens -
deeper than the oceans themselves.
The waters are awake, encompassing
the earth and drawing us in with the wayward
tides, which are unsynchronised and lost
from reality. All I see in those waves of promise,
chopping and churning with wild ferocity
in the dark winds of night-time,
comes from a simple word. All colour
is implanted in my mind, in my imagination,
from a simple image that you conveyed with a
single, colourless word.
I do not understand how they do it,
having so much thought that they invented
an entire universe of elements,
components and small fixtures of greater
workings. Those incredible, beautiful
scientists, with their steam-crimped hair and curious
eyes; the wonderfully inventive mathematicians
who ponder over all knowledge in order
to realise something new - that is what
true beauty is. Chemistry, physics, biology
and maths are their own art forms, and what they
seek to create is more beautiful than my
words and paintbrush can ever dream.