I give you the freedom
to interpret “We” in general
or as just Us
may your Intimacies show you
what will guide my pendants
of thought kindlings.
I leave it undisclosed too.
We are evanescent, Juliet.
Yet complete in how shattered we are.
We can’t trace our fingers over tangible frames of the ways of Connections,
clogs of the paths
from what we believe we have already surpassed.
We know we have no capacity of learning with clear logic
how We work,
what Philia makes of Us
and what we make of it,
how the seeds of uncertain Passions
find their way through
and out of Us.
It is indeed a huge insecurity of ours:
trying to find, trace
(on a lone garden wall
made of bricks and creepers),
and keep in our fragile handling
what these feverishness coming
out of hand do with us.
But then we
stand behind the other
(optionally or not: of our self still),
in the same way
if I make it right, or rather we make it right.
The hands of both parties come
in one click and then
though we accost errors
we make our perfectly imperfect
clingings with some glass in that wall
as we again and again come
and will come into
which seem new
but stay one and the same
or saddened by the world ideas that will keep on putting us through questioning “Who am I?”
with our silences filled with answers
that we will keep on becoming
and accomplishing without ever taking sentient notice.
I take you as we are.
You take me as we are.
We stay strong in that pair
of trembling hands that
though they do not know
what is ahead of them
or already as Them
when it comes to Love
or any pure emotional arousal
we make of ideas, we accept it.
We won’t ever encompass it
but it encompasses us.
We welcome how much we don’t understand
our bodies or how all of that
and even more flows
and will flow,
we are it,
teary from resilience.
Errors - not
Broken - not
Nought these names made up for perceiving *** and bodies,
these measly words as enough as one isolation to a whole abandoned waiting room at now
I stay in full apprehension and readiness
of what I come to exist
as and what feeling becomes me,
I won’t chain myself to
the scheme we might draw
with chalk on that garden wall.
And be that too alongside please,
I am, will be there,
going through all the same strangenesses
yet kissing each
and every one
on their ivory breathing ribs,
because they only seem
to be deformed
and at unease.
I will stay in Love.
I will stay outside of it.
Without naming it or putting it
to any formality
let all these questions be a waterfall on you and welcome each and every one of them.
We don’t have to understand them.
We just will be.
We will stay as questions and just let it be. We don’t have to be apart.
We don’t have to be bound for eternity
with pacts or our bodies entangled.
I simplistically. approach.
these hurt questions with a stupefying tenderness of giving
each and every one of them
a chance to.
A thin line of peach freeze.
Sentinels of senses themselves, my arousals of then.
Phronemophilia stays unswayed. I am still in the same bliss.
Let see where we as consciences will grow and shape to.
In the end
it is seen
that loving anyone or anything
was only the pathway to solely harbouring ourselves and Love itself.
It is unchanginly It.
Same verily sacrum in choice of
Coming to meet your mirror once you’ve considered yourself fully mended already leads you to reflect upon all the lessons you’ve taken in already and undermining the stability of your development. To rejuvenate or rehearse them again bare and undone.
Carol Staples Lewis made the same affiliations in his works and pondering when a senior devil meets his junior acquaintance, telling of his own experience, going again through their wisdom and what the younger one should reflect upon.
Yet now this is not about God, morality, sneakiness or any other machination.
This, is On Love. Gibran-like uptake to go through what That is beyond human relationships and models.
Dedicated to my mirror, here my trial of what I’ve come to learn myself in that matter to my own junior. Testing me.