SPREADING
pressure
contact
by the tips of my fingers and squared edge of your thumb,
hairs matt and clipped
through torn tracks in my elbows and knees, freshly formed and reformed.
The new flesh unfurls and smiles away,
reveals a mouth of rose and scarlet
soft, slick to the air and quiet, not screaming.
Listening, receiving, from its place of exposure.
Hands feeling their way through heavy curtain.
We wait, pausing in breath
as connective tissues startle into profound motion –
a multitude of nebulous crashing consciousness.
You fall and wrap the length of your arms around my waist, hurtling us both towards and almost nothingness. A floor between floors, without clear lines or staked edges. We tumble and roll in infant togetherness, clinging to the confidence of gravity, to the squeeze and drum of hearts under dimmed red.
FIRE
Related Blogposts
“Do I need to be fed?” the eyes asked the mouth, “Do I need imagery to stay alive?” “Would I starve without food?” the mouth then answered “Have a drink!” the eyes rapidly replied “Then do the same” the mouth said “Soak your glare, let the tears roll down to…
7 døgn siden jeg gik ind og ud. Oplevelsen sidder som en lille lomme af energi i mit bryst. Et lille regnbuefarvet egern der vil løbe rundt. Og putter sig op af hjertet når jeg sover. Jeres vision berører mig. Halleluja for en moderne skole/reformation af skolesystemet og opgør med…