I’m thinking about love
Being in it
Imperfectly approaching the perfect
every day - approaching the alter
every day being sent back again and again to myself
The one place I don’t know how to be
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The slits of my eyes warm with pink light
I think, “Now I’m not dreaming”
My first thought, laying in a stale bed
“Where to escape to”
My first hunger before my feet start to touch
wood, tile, cotton, rubber, gravel under rubber, smooth/flat, elevators
My transition ritual from sleep to wake
Is mostly this inner dialogue…
Last night was leftovers in bed and falling asleep to a playlist of affirmations on youtube, hoping that prepping tomorrow with positive focus would plant a seed in the heart of this anxious meat suite, meant to protect my bones from chattering too loudly (thin walls in tenement housing, life in the big city and such).
I think there is an in inherent restlessness in seeking honest. In more nuanced story, higher resolution, more filled in. Everywhere there is distraction, but if thats where we are then, ~ we are here now ~
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I dawned full length sleeves over the empty cartons of my enjoyed flesh - this morning - overflowing in deep-whispered carnal snarls, with supple breath, and my gut on a fierce prowl, I began sniffing the air for direction to that pleasure vein, the gold vein deep underground that I know must be somewhere close, under my nose, maybe even, in my bones. Sure, dark. Sure, vast. but It keeps whispering. I was able to take a deep breath, staring at the impasse, the rock wall that formed in front of me when I commanded my dreams appear. Arriving first as vapor, then an impasse, they revealed themselves not so much cunning as wounded and offered redirection. Full stop. I looked. Deeply. And stayed….
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