how sweet the dark which hides me;
the brine that filters through;
the softness of the sand.

I cling - am singing - bivalve songs
my gills alight with blood.
hanging by a byssal thread in wait,
for what? indeed.

nutrition filters through my shell
- the tastes of distant loves -
I hunker down, secreting possibilities
that I can not see, of distant dreams.

the universe within my nerves expands,
too vast to be contained.
it explodes beyond myself;
no mantle can frame it.

it flows from me - this longing.
a remembrance of moments,
of chemicals in current.

every tear a life unlived.
each drop a thought potential.

the tides within establish norms which permeate
- instigate -
the turnings of this realm,
bringing forth the hardened form of signals I've rebound:

"I'm here! Hello?"
"Me too, me too!"
we echo through the seas,
anticipating textures on the tides.

our swirling minds reflect within,
entombing us with times.
we live inside our memories.

no past, no future, it all is now,
now, and now, and all around:
it's all we see.
and then...

we live again,
mirrored by the things we've grown around us.
from birth. through life.
we scrape, then die again, again.

all at once and forever, we thrive and fall,
encapsulated in our hemispheres which turn
and twist
and spin.

a spiral forms;
projects the pattern of our dreams without.
each sensation painted in the layers we wear
until it shines.
and see how it shines!

the pales and pinks and silvers shift,
revolve within themselves to show
our deepest fears
our brightest joys
as rainbows, smooth and silken.

if they could only know the truth:
that our beauty's accidental;
coincidental.
that we would shed our skins to swim,
settle quick into the plains
aside our lovers sending signals with the swell.

but now, we wait.
for what? indeed.
blind, deaf, locked away.

here, at the bottom of the world
I drift again through images of being.
I can not say which have gone,
which have not yet come.

another turn in the spiral is cast
- another layer hardens -
and I remain,
clench my shell and think:
how sweet the dark.

i am a dying wish—yours to be specific.
the wish dying in your arms every time the sun makes its rotation around the Earth.

there’s no life in me; i am a carcass strewn over the highway,
crushed and mangled and torn to shreds.

what if, if after every pound i lost,
i lost more of myself?
a skinny figure who changed herself to please a piece of glass.

when you said my name, i felt like you would leave me in a cornfield unconsciously anonymous,
yet you streaked my sky.
i’m shedding tears like skin, like burdened rain
seeping from the clouds on a day the world decides to die a little.

when the night is still, my muscles tense up.
i’ve been waiting for the memory of you to remember me,
dancing shameless on the ledge,
unafraid to look childish, knowing you were the first to make the empty void cease.

wide-eyed at the ceiling, losing two strands of hair in the shower, mailing you my address, begging you to stay.
you won’t—i won’t let you.

i am a foggy backroad, you cannot see through me.
all you’d see is a figure, clutching her stomach,
pinching herself for eating two meals,
for not resisting the temptation to feed the pressing hunger.

in your mind, the quietness i exude is only when my brain is confined.
there are shapeless memories and words that float until my arms are strong enough to grab them.

what if after every pound i lost, i lost more of myself,
drifting away into an unwelcoming atmosphere, unfit for someone as bewildered as me?

what if i love you and i don’t know what to do with that
so i write on a night with no moon visible from my bedroom window
and i lie awake wondering whether you are dreaming of me or whether you love me too
or whether we are nothing
but two memories floating,
remembering the other as their favorite one?

I recall little

of that party, it was great --


Unforgettable!

I never usually dream,
But I dream of you
And the fact that I do is torturous.
Perhaps, it is punishment
For what my mind perceives as guilt.
And like every poor sod
I wonder,
Do you think of me too?

Today I met someone I knew before.
We talked for a while, shared memories and more.
Then I realized, we can only meet the same person once,
For experience asks, and change is our response.

Static we can't be, unless life's flame
Is snuffed out, and we're just a name.
In every encounter, new experiences we obtain;
Our paths have shifted, though echoes remain.

Time's gentle passage had left its mark,
On hearts once familiar, now slightly stark.
Contrast of past and present, like a shifting dream,
Each conversation weaves new threads in the seam.

After our meeting, I closed my eyes,
Remembering what once was, under the skies.
In quiet reflection, I found a trace
Of the past intertwined with the present’s embrace.

I decided a long time ago
as long as a piece of string
I would be the one to cut it short
if you were to cut it thin
yes, It was a long time ago
along a long and lonely path
I longed to stretch it out
what you would cut in half
I decided a long time ago
as long as you were here
long is such a long ago
I, short of memory,
long to remember

A shadow crossed the room
in the corner of my awareness

A cloud outside somewhere, probably,
but for an instant, I thought that motion was you.

Thoughts of you are casually intrusive.

Maybe you’d crawled into my luggage - and hidden.
There’s a complex birthday-candle wish.

Desire owes no deference to logic

When I think of you, my tummy becomes warm satin and I know,
that in your hands, I could be boneless and lusciously obedient.

For a while, anyway.

I remember us at the beach, lounging in deep parasol shade,
how your tanned skin glistened with tiny beads of sweat
and your endless legs stretched out like a centerfold’s.

Or you pulling me up out of the pool, one-handed, effortlessly,
with enough force that I briefly flew, and how you’d gently guide me down.

“What are you doing?” I’m virtually slapped out of my ****** fantasy, by Lisa, who’s standing, exasperated, sandaled toes tapping, purse in hand.

“Daydreaming,” I answered weakly, as I jumped up to get myself ready.

Has it only been four days since I left you?
I already feel tragically underheld.
.
.
A song for this:
Ain't it a shame by The B-52s
Locked Inside by Janelle Monáe