"katalox" poems
watching time go by
with you
is like carving your name into a katalox.
we guard the time
trying to slow down the inevitable
like growing young again.
staring at the small figures
that determine the night
that was once ours.
clawing onto the clocktower,
holding onto the arms
that don't stop for us.
a battle always lost,
time as inexorable as our love
and the pain we will meet.
the death we will kiss
on the cold black lips
after we see that the once seemingly unstoppable things
become needless with time.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 11:25 AM UTC
And when puddles ripple from the slightest touch of a raindrop that has fallen from the overcast sky, and the pine needles droop from the weight of water as if the world was equivalent to one hundred pound cinder blocks, please remember that somewhere within the rolling Catskills, your palace still sits. The aroma of blended spices will swallow the surrounding oxygen it feeds on, mixing together to find combination, to form a perfect harmony, before finally sprinting up the chimney to dance in the air, as if it were sending out a distress signal, leading you home. Remember that after the katalox clicks tight, and your shoes sleep on the mat, all that will really matter are the lessons of kindergarten. To be kind to one another and share, to know when you need to say sorry, to love and care for each other. However, some of the easiest lessons are the hardest to show. So one thing that I have come to teach myself is that sometimes the best apologies are those that taste like love. So, if I were to become that block of dry ice that burns you even with the most gentle touch, tell me. I will invite you to dine at the table, and I will melt with the heat of the stove and pray that you see not just a meal but a feast baked in my apologies and garnished with all the love that I don’t know how to physically express. The type that you can feel rush down your throat, racing through your veins to warm everything from the roots of your hair to the tip of your toe. So, if I haven't said it enough times, I want you to know: quiero amarte, pentru ca te iubesc, and in every language ever created, I need you to know that I love you. And thus it is this love that has created something much more than just a diverse palate, it is something that has created it’s own embrace. One that humans can’t provide.
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 10:49 AM UTC