May 2018
i.
Your secret messages become even more secret in a hidden part of my room, in my heart, in my mind. They never see sunlight, but they don’t have to. Things are better loved quietly, in the dark without the interruption of light--the truth. Messages become more meaningful under the moonlight, anway. You write me love poetry in what’s not said, you paint me images with the swirls of your type type typing fingers. We create a moon world. We create many moon worlds. We name them after jupiters 53 moons: io, herse, europa, thebe, leda. We plan to name our dream children after these moons. We don’t discuss the likelihood of our dreamlets. We don’t realize it’s because if we look at this during the day, it’s rotting.
ii.
Is the way you look at me in the merriam-webster’s dictionary? Is the way you brush your bony fingers on my hairy arms taught in grammar school? How do we define forever? Do we have forever? Do we even have today? We’re school children with no concept of linear time and a perfect understanding of infinity. We’ll never stop for the recess bell.
iii.
We sit in the bath. The water is hot for our baptism, cleansing our sins and souls and troubles and worries. We stare. The steam disrupts our vision, blurring our bodies into a two headed monster. Isn’t that what we are? Monsters? We sit in the bath. I think of that line from The Bell Jar: “There must be quite a few things a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them.” I quote it, but you don’t get the reference. You’ve stopped getting my references. We sit in the bath. You tell me I’m special to you. I blink. I don’t believe it anymore. We sit in the bath. We stare at each other, the steam stinging our eyes. You pull the drain for the water, but we go down instead.
iii.
You push me away. I push me away. You push me away. I push me away. We stop pushing. We never moved.
ii.
Is there a synonym for you and me? We only exist in synonyms, in other versions of ourselves.
i.
I light my prayer candle for you. I whisper a prayer for happiness, for you, for me, into its embers. The flame climbs the wick slowly. Four of cups, reverse strength, the tower. I pull tarot cards until my fingers are paper cut to the bone. Past, present, future.
ii.
I read you love poetry, but not mine. I can’t capture the feeling of lying next to you like cummings. Do you carry my heart like i carry yours (in my heart)? I carry your heart like a school boy carrying your books.
iii.
Do you worry about me like i worry? Do you wear your guilt like a sweater? Does it envelop you like a blanket on cold nights? I wear mine like perfumed lotion, it sinks in all over my body and becomes one with me. You love my smell.
i.
Can i stop hiding you? I want to climb to the highest mountain on Io and let everyone know. There’s only you and me there, but that’s all who needs to know. I love you.
ii.
I love you.
iii.
I love you.
Your secret messages become even more secret in a hidden part of my room, in my heart, in my mind. They never see sunlight, but they don’t have to. Things are better loved quietly, in the dark without the interruption of light--the truth. Messages become more meaningful under the moonlight, anway. You write me love poetry in what’s not said, you paint me images with the swirls of your type type typing fingers. We create a moon world. We create many moon worlds. We name them after jupiters 53 moons: io, herse, europa, thebe, leda. We plan to name our dream children after these moons. We don’t discuss the likelihood of our dreamlets. We don’t realize it’s because if we look at this during the day, it’s rotting.
ii.
Is the way you look at me in the merriam-webster’s dictionary? Is the way you brush your bony fingers on my hairy arms taught in grammar school? How do we define forever? Do we have forever? Do we even have today? We’re school children with no concept of linear time and a perfect understanding of infinity. We’ll never stop for the recess bell.
iii.
We sit in the bath. The water is hot for our baptism, cleansing our sins and souls and troubles and worries. We stare. The steam disrupts our vision, blurring our bodies into a two headed monster. Isn’t that what we are? Monsters? We sit in the bath. I think of that line from The Bell Jar: “There must be quite a few things a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them.” I quote it, but you don’t get the reference. You’ve stopped getting my references. We sit in the bath. You tell me I’m special to you. I blink. I don’t believe it anymore. We sit in the bath. We stare at each other, the steam stinging our eyes. You pull the drain for the water, but we go down instead.
iii.
You push me away. I push me away. You push me away. I push me away. We stop pushing. We never moved.
ii.
Is there a synonym for you and me? We only exist in synonyms, in other versions of ourselves.
i.
I light my prayer candle for you. I whisper a prayer for happiness, for you, for me, into its embers. The flame climbs the wick slowly. Four of cups, reverse strength, the tower. I pull tarot cards until my fingers are paper cut to the bone. Past, present, future.
ii.
I read you love poetry, but not mine. I can’t capture the feeling of lying next to you like cummings. Do you carry my heart like i carry yours (in my heart)? I carry your heart like a school boy carrying your books.
iii.
Do you worry about me like i worry? Do you wear your guilt like a sweater? Does it envelop you like a blanket on cold nights? I wear mine like perfumed lotion, it sinks in all over my body and becomes one with me. You love my smell.
i.
Can i stop hiding you? I want to climb to the highest mountain on Io and let everyone know. There’s only you and me there, but that’s all who needs to know. I love you.
ii.
I love you.
iii.
I love you.
