Tuesday, July 24, 2012

words are a meager thing at the bottom of a grave

words are a meager thing at the bottom of a grave

Salander couldn’t breath….[S]he realized…that she was buried under ground.”

i am sorry that you are beautiful
that the curve of your jaw and neck
the angle of your ankle to foot
and your hands your hands

all all of you yes all
makes me ache to be right next to you

the words that come out of your mouth
and your mouth

the laughter that rises from your chest
and your chest

and the dozens of ways you have worn your hair
over the sixteen years i’ve known you walk on this planet

i am smitten enamored and pining in your trance
your electrifying faerie dust and pheromones 

i am sorry because this all sounds superficial
the hollowness of a man thinking with his hands
and the burden of my love like a shovel full of dirt

words are a meager thing at the bottom of a grave

but it is all i have
it is my complete resignation in a mine field
to the one thing that is me and true

except this isn’t quite true
at least not as true as this:

i wish my longing was what you wanted of me
my hands reaching for you
like a man buried alive trying to dig free
for the oxygen that pales beside you

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