the fall

Because her eyes were wet with sin and believing, I was exiled into seeing. My eyes bright with ignorance. The moon over my head lights the hills and rises. Her skin holds the distance of a day, so I run as far as I can. In some places fullness and emptiness embody one another. In others they only suit themselves, I wonder which one she dignifies in the blue flame in a land of her many states, in roots digging in the light, in a sky diver’s breaths for her smile, in every sailor’s destiny for her mouth. There is a small raining window between us, so soft I have to close my eyes to cool my heart. There is a one well finger waiting that is so wide I have to see out to roam with my cries. Petrol water so heavy I have to conceive to heal my thighs. Silent mistake asleep in the meadow. Headlights don’t shine where I want to see. The snake with a thousand pages of teeth in a little bottle of ink and spice. Loss and discovery. My gray calming teeth cracking day by day, peeling gelatinous layers in a steamy eye.

Old King Cole was a Mary old soul, and Mary has always been, love’s goddess in landslide heat, sphenoid resonances in the swinging trees, desire singing in pounding hooves, sting in dipping wings rushing streams balancing its not unsaid (over time another layers slippery seeds are shed, led towards her shoulders combined in harmony.)

My queen is my license and my victory. I wouldn’t recognize my baby’s answer. Wouldn’t recall her twitching thighs full of wet ambition. She’s nonnegotiable. Her smoothness on fire with causality under the starlight. Like every break in the wind. She shakes no hollow tones in the yellow leaves. She doesn’t take no musical improving. She’s got a backside. She does not affect me in any way that I can see. I do not see the ocean of blood ebb and flow between us, or the light bending within us. I only know that it is sweet, that she has cultivated and carries some tangy nectar that I cannot get enough of . I love her more and more for my own benefit. I pull on her mouth. I do not know if it is an experience I long for. I drink and cherish some nature of hers that I do not know. I think it is indigestible; but we are one.

And my dry heart out into the wind, blows around like tumbleweed. My opaque eyes miss hollowly, the falling halos, until my imitation twins glow shivers in the wind, the familiar coat remembers how rain dances lightly behind my eyes, and ships of molo sailed out of the foggy night, my mouth, to buildings in the dusk and dawn embroidered over my pulse, where the lights go out all sealed in her touch. I call to her. Tell me, sweet Marie, how do you feel. Can you show me where you live. Is it the fire in the ground, is it the fire in the void, is it the frozen in the ground, is it the feeling in your heart, is it the place where you began, a space without command, do you live at all, are you with me right now, can you let me know somehow, oh sweet Marie, I’ve been watching so long, I’ve been tracing every river flow, I’ve been lost in the rise and fall, sat with my eyes open for days, now I call out with every sound I know, sweet Marie. Out on the oceans where we meet again, entranced by each other’s eyes, slipping in and out of the cliffs speaking edge, searching for sweet Marie. All the way from your villa on the hill, to your golden desert valley, from swollen head to broken heart, in the pieces lies the one spark, a buttery flying antidote, at the end of every street, I look and smell the emptiness so sweet. It feels like I’ve been waiting here all my life, and now I ain’t got no time left. I’m whispering and watching. I have written notes of every kind and left them just for you. If there’s one thing left to say, it’s that I didn’t know those shadows had other stories to tell. At the end all the road all the signs disappear. It’s like they were never there at all. The only signs are those from me to you.