Wednesday, July 21, 2010

force


It feels forced-


the healing

the forgetting

the empty space



between then and now, the days that seem to

evaporate without essence, taste or smell.



I try to fill up the space around her, but

feel as though my body is detained and yoked to

the sensory memory of a being, that was once

erect, loud, above sea level.


out of sync

a poverty in my being

with the way she, bends, peels, chops, lays



and changes the remote dropping it against her

stomach, it tangling up between the sheet and her

skin in the hot hot heat. How I going to mention

that time will move fast and I will have to move

with it.


Like the violent breeze outside from the west , a faint whisper

of belonging. Now the smell of guilt fixes itself around my head

and nothing settles the around and around in the pit of

my stomach.



On Paradise © July 2010

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