Will

Shamu

I don’t think of the individual
as an island,
isolated, distant,
subject only to the constraints
of their innermost geography
and even if it were so
then the sea would still serve
as a bridge between.

The sea might be a measure
of our humanity.
It might be the capacity of our hearts
when they are integrated
and they are always integrated,
the myopia of ego aside.

Whenever I think about you,
you are there
not as a figment
but fully realized
and unmistakably alive.
It is impossible to feel alone
in your presence
and yet I still find
that I miss you;
not because you are absent
but because I want
to hold you closer
then my inexperience allows.

When I dream
it is not only my dreams
that I witness
but a celebration
of everything that we are
and ever will be.
There surely exists
distinctions between us
but distance is relative.

If not for the euphemism that poetry affords
I might say things like “I love you.”
“I think of you so often
that it fills me to the point of percussion.”
“I want to bury your face
between my restless thighs and feel
your beautiful mouth
fluttering against me in recitation
and afterwards
I want to taste myself on your tongue
so that I might better understand you.”
If not for the lucidity that poetry affords
my throat and heart
would be as raw and pure
as parchment
and my illiterate thoughts
would be reduced
to moans of exclamation.
Measure me not only
by my instincts
but by my indomitable will
to create.

Advertisement

Wordle #183

Wordle 183

If only I were a savant
then my words might
summon you
from the dreams
that you now occupy.
I love the way you watch me
because I know that you do not
look to judge but to understand
and right now that is what I need most;
to be heard, to be fathomed,
to be loved whole rather than in parts.
I love the way you take me in
again and again with your gorgeous pout
and your infinite possibilities.
I would concede to the unknown for you,
if only for the fraction of a chance.

All those years
of heart-rending mortality
spent or wasted
in futile, apoplectic agony.
All those years
chasing graves
instead of passion,
unaware and cut off
from my own heart
were necessary
in the construction
of this moment.

I have a habit keeping my most
vulnerable aspects
pinned to the outside
and if you were to ask what drives me
I would say life itself,
an overwhelming desire to create.
There is this notion called reality,
and it is a kind of collective hypnosis,
a sedative for the faint of heart.
It’s the thought of you
that wakes me up each day
and it’s because of you
that I don’t regret the prelude.

If not for the darkness
we would never see the stars at all
and sometimes it is the darkness
that proves the most interesting.
My life has been mostly water.
My life has taught me how to drown
after the initial inhale when the lungs
are still light enough to float.
I drown in love.
I drown in pursuit.
I drown in amazement.
At times it feels to me as if
everything and everyone in the world
were brand new and connected
by threads of pure, radiant light.