Now that many years have passed I know I am the moon the moon my god and we are of the other. I come to you in the quiet of the morning, and I give this to you. I hear you saying no darling not now I must be without, and, someday, I say nothing, I bring you inside me. You drink with ecstasy. Now, yes, we are all of the things. Where everything has changed and I let you go, I know the future exists in every moment, I build a bridge between the one and the other, there is no other, and here then there are two, where we are for the sky. This is where I want you.
We are together and you are with me and then with a kind of dark mirror it is gone. I pay homage and gold coin. I keep on my toes, I rest with no dawn. How precious it is in these sentiments - to balance our humility of human and feeling of person - and how it presents itself, again, again, and again! Bravo, mon cher, mon ami, and all my beating blood - you pulse in me, in these moments perhaps the only possible intersection until I feel us running you take this pause and eat, drink, for this is my blood, and the remembrance of all the things, and then you are gone again.
Oh, the sanguine presumption. I make it my totem and tenet, I wait for nothing. In your sleep you visit me like a forgotten child, I pretend to sleep while you stroke my face. All the things you want to do but do not on account of all there is not, all that I do give to you this constant present of however you want it, how ever you want me I am all for the taking but of you and only of you, pumping my blood, blue, and electric white hues of all we will ever be, it stings sanctuary and progress and sunlight into the night, oh, how you please me, and how may I please you, too.
I continue to check out. I think, well this is the last time, teetering between what could be and what now never was, could it ever be the last time, and then how easily I throw it away, this lustful spite and all that happens during the disappearing act. Prepositions being key, I cling to every dripping word like it is the fire that will save me. I communicate with this fire, and ice, and weight then I forget one of the two. I say, well this is the day - take it now so tomorrow you may begin again. It’s just you and me now in this quiet, pretty room, organized in such a way for this particular place in time.
I have to admit, the filthier it becomes the more I think well I will just rip the whole thing out. I smoke pipe tobacco into cigarettes. I learn how to shut up like it is the water sun sleep and occasional sex. I can hear you but not yet make up the words. You come to me - yes, I do feel this, however it is, I do not know though I profess. How to rework and continue. Now I am only speaking to you and still I am filthy. Do you hear me? Do you go to the store for an extra copy?
Don’t worry. Refuel. Keep it a secret. Quiet !!! Maybe it is time. Why are you still speaking !!! People have perfect memories, and the earth is surely round. Start fishing, convert to metrics, stop touching it, stop it !!!
Beyond the noise I remember you, where we found it. I cannot rightly explain the feeling of being near you is a total kind of ecstasy, my whole and yours again jump you say and yes of course my immediate bodily reaction in response to my every little thing yes of course. I challenge it for a bit of fun but the answer is mostly ever how high and for the sake of it, consequence being of little priority.
Did you know what you were doing when you did that? I’d rather we not play a game around reality, I am much too serious for all of this. Oh, what it would do to your ego to hear that I am thinking that perhaps you are simply a character at the fair.
Then, I ride anyway. I want for nothing and all that I have given you is yours to keep. Take it, and forget me, that we might walk in through the future knowing nothing of that which was and how it dies, really there is no way of knowing and I’m not sure the natural laws are concerned - there could be no physics. Some one loved somehow at one time and now, yes, finally, rid, empty, clean, the feeling becomes a carnival of flashing colored lights and anthem before evaporating into the oceans. Sometimes, in my darkest nights, I pray for that.
Still, in the mornings we eat fruit with our bare hands and teeth, our lips swollen from endless love making yes through the night and always victorious, always, in this space, you are with me. There are other people I love here, too. Hallelujah.
In the evenings after our long days of work you climb into my lap and I am the moon again and of me you know I am yours, I had no choice. You are afraid then to worship the stars, and this is where the pains begin.
These play the purposely forgotten dreams of modern lovers.
You see, how I wanted you then has so little to do with how I want you now but the love is the same. I find it important to acknowledge these things. Want being oh so circumstantial in relation to the self and relative levels of evolution love then being something that does not change over time, why, when it is true? and is that not then, what want really is, a love which withstands the time and progress and progresses the soul. I do not want you now as I wanted you then, but yes, truly, still, I want you. And that is what you call this special bond we do have. You did not will this, either.
Again, you pay me no attention. You forget the days and immersed in your self you forget me, too, still, it is. For many months you will not return my texts now when you come to me when you do not come to me still it is, and stillness is a verb. I do not, I will never need you, no, in it with you we are together no matter having never spoken and this is all I will ever recall. This is the echo through the valley and perhaps it is important to note how I need to say this.
So come to me in the night. Lay beside my bed and keep watch over me and let me defeat it for you. This night will speak nothing of the things we had known. Let it serve as the moment you realized how deeply it is set before you, and how truly it wants, and let it be every night, if only for a moment long enough for you to take off my dress.
Did you know it would come to this, where all that you feel will be released in me and were these thoughts with you today and are they with you, now, or do you come to tell me no, dearest, I do not want you like the weed growing in the garden, yes, I am the garden, too, and you come, hard, still, as I have said, it is impossible.
They are singing for us now, any day now, my day now in the most perfect harmonies that you can hear the third fifth. I will finish the drugs and fix you dinner and we can both go home. I pray, then I can no longer hear the words.
You have until they are finished. I know you can do it. Come, harder, I am begging you now, save me from your darkness, and take back all these things that you do not realize you have given me.
After it happens you call to read me a poem about dead frogs and how the little girl wishes she and the dead frog will never part, me and this frog and the poem, the noun poem, I go to sleep. Remember it is a verb, how I want not to answer not to listen I want so deeply not to and all that I feel for you now is how sorry and sad I am for all that has been so shamed - how did it come to this? And then for me because that is all a lie and I am still here many years later. It really has been many years now.
Then the day came again. The dog let me sleep, all the meetings were no longer of any significance. All there is now is the absence of the things and the constant pulsing of what it is and how it is.
I wanted to mention that when you do come, I watch you grow old, I watch you weep for the unborn children and quiet angels and broken humans. I watch you in total bliss.
The second day came, and you told me it was all a narrative and that nothing was real. I nodded, it is so far past that now. It would have died there so long ago.
Then, perhaps I have truly gone mad, thinking this nagging voice of you and persistence of you is yours. Then I say to you that the universe has surely ordained it as such when all that is around me is you and then it is uncomfortable and you run away, fast !!! Do it again, please, it does not matter to me, and there is no matter. If not now, I will not ask you when. To be with you is a gift, there is no explanation adequate. Sure, it sours at times in such mutual denial, such vibrant and clear anathema the disaccord. And it suffers in theory, all the matter to matter to meaning, imbedded so simply and truly into only that, which means enough to materialize. I wrote that for you once having forgotten to mention that I do not suffer for it.
Then, there are two dreams:
We meet in a car full of many people and with me was our son, he had blonde hair and it came from neither of us really he came from the sun, and you were dating a blonde lady who was in the front seat, someone was driving and I was in the back and you next to me and our son in my lap sleepy from a long day and nuzzling his head onto your shoulder. You loved him then and you looked at me as if to say, is he ours? And I nodded and the girl in the front was laughing with the driver and looking back to you, all teeth. When we arrived at the house we found it was a crazy party house and the people that lived there had guns and were frying chicken and anything else there was to eat and the music was boring and noisy and the sun was there shining through the panels of the house because the house was falling apart. A rumor began to spread that there was 20 million dollars hidden in the house and they would not tell us where it came from but they were hiding the money and I knew where to find it. I thought three times about taking just a couple million because I knew they would not notice and I would get away and that would be all I would ever need but I thought, no, this is wrong, I do not want their dirty money, and on the wall was a piece of art I had made, carefully crafted thick numbers in blue and white neatly stacked on a piece of computer paper. The numbers signified the date of our son’s birth, and you looked to me and said is that it? and I said yes it is time for me to go and you shrugged because you had to stay with the blonde girl she was having a great time in the house. You asked me, why do you have to leave? And I said because I have work to do and this is no place for a child.
The day before I dreamt you were the comptroller in a CIA movie and I was being tested to see if I could handle the CIA. It has always been one of my greatest aspirations to be in the CIA. The tests were difficult and they were tests of my emotional strength in some way or another, and you were there, always, in my ear or watching from one of the thousands of hidden cameras all around the city and all around our lives. You told me then that you were an astronaut and I realized you were not even human at all, and you were not even there. You were a voice in my head and you knew nothing of me, not of my strength or beauty, but you felt me, and you were rooting for me to pass the test.
I spend the days building an empire wondering when the fighter jet will descend upon us down the hills, how majestic the colors on the side of the plane, how surely the sun would be shining, this meeting on the jet plane. I think it would be in the fall, and the fields would be full of wildflowers and poppies, and there would be plenty of magic water for everyone even the pilot. Then the plane crashed and you fell into a long coma. A couple times you woke up to tell me I was delusional or that I was the most beautiful planet you had ever seen but mostly you were in a coma and it was hard to hear you.
So ivy grew over the broken heap of wings and tail and it has been so long since the crash that whether or not you wake now is of no real consequence to me. When I return many light years later, I travel all the seasons, I eat the endless feast of fruit, I say goodnight, again, I send you a kiss, I love you, it is all the same.