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j-ArturoPoems
When the sweat is dry on my brow I will get up. I'll be able to focus then better, I think. The sweat is linked to a general malaise, where objects drift in double shapes... Not unpleasantly. But smarter, I think, to stay. At least, Let the pupils dilate, and left eye Recalibrate it's aim. The salt and sweat malign the eyes, which either slip too fast past the the target, or arrive a bit delayed. You said: Maybe we'd be happier if we moved on with our lives. You're seeing something in Iowa that was likely there all along. And the more I feel like you could slip away I become more paranoid and afraid. Wondering now who you're with, Whether this path ultimately leads to my replace. Though maybe we both agree, then, with what you said. I can't hang on to something that long got on a plane and left. Or try and **** through wires the delusion of a scent, that dissipates, reductively, with every breath. Though I will rephrase, in my own way, the sentiment I think remains: It would be more prudent to Let the nose and lungs to rest.          Let us be ungreedy with breath. If you move on I will let you pass. I cannot hold you within me, And these cavities have not the space.          But I will taste your color again, perhaps,          In the wind, a laugh,          The wet heat of a lovers face.          I will taste your color again,          In the wind, a laugh,          The wet heat of a lovers face. If you move on I will let you not just pass but dissipate. And rebuild a more modest faith: Just once, to inhale again something like what went. (And still remember what it meant.)
0
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 4:03 PM UTC
Salt and oil and scent
When the sweat is dry on my brow I will get up. I'll be able to focus then better, I think. The sweat is linked to a general malaise, where objects drift in double shapes... Not unpleasantly. But smarter, I think, to stay. At least, Let the pupils dilate, and left eye Recalibrate it's aim. The salt and sweat malign the eyes, which either slip too fast past the the target, or arrive a bit delayed. You said: Maybe we'd be happier if we moved on with our lives. You're seeing something in Iowa that was likely there all along. And the more I feel like you could slip away I become more paranoid and afraid. Wondering now who you're with, Whether this path ultimately leads to my replace. Though maybe we both agree, then, with what you said. I can't hang on to something that long got on a plane and left. Or try and **** through wires the delusion of a scent, that dissipates, reductively, with every breath. Though I will rephrase, in my own way, the sentiment I think remains: It would be more prudent to Let the nose and lungs to rest.          Let us be ungreedy with breath. If you move on I will let you pass. I cannot hold you within me, And these cavities have not the space.          But I will taste your color again, perhaps,          In the wind, a laugh,          The wet heat of a lovers face.          I will taste your color again,          In the wind, a laugh,          The wet heat of a lovers face. If you move on I will let you not just pass but dissipate. And rebuild a more modest faith: Just once, to inhale again something like what went. (And still remember what it meant.)
j-Arturo
Written by
j-Arturo
American
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 4:03 PM UTC
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