And it wasn’t that I felt it
It was that I was
Her breath was my skin
I was her exhalation
With every breath she took she exuded life after
As if dragging slowly on a cigarette and puffing out smoke
The words she spun and spluttered choked upon and spoke
Jaggered pieces of incomplete puzzles
Being whispered into the forget of the night’s air where
Profound ideas escape as mere passing comments
I stand facing her like a mirror of
She keeps warming the glass and fingering out letters
Form eludes me
Because she finds incoherence more exciting
A limbo between creation and imagination
Quotes and jokes and lies and lines
Anecdotes drinks sex and aquaintence
I am the best book she’s ever read
Just no narrative
I am only real in eyelids
Her vision makes me disappear
Platoons of me conjured over long evenings
The first ball of clay moulded at dusk and
So it rolls on
We all retreat by day break
With dawn return sensibilities
The wretched responsibilities that quell the quill
Sometimes I question my sentience
As if it was mine to ask
Am I the imagined false image or am I the truth come to pass
Sometimes we lay in bed together
She grazes her fingers up my back
Every night I sleep inside her
She stays tapping at the window pane
Like a child in the snow looking for a family
She rubs my lamp when she cannot sleep
And grants her own wishes
She stares for hours at stars and the moon
But only has eyes for me
Standing, waving, howling, screaming, marching, parading, pervading, lying, crying, persuading, debating, bartering, betraying, delaying, ranting, bathing, decaying, musing, alluding, folding, burning, freezing, raving standing in front of her
I need convince her of nothing
A flick of the air with her tongue
Spirals me into a human shape
I stare at her as I take my leave
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