The Address of That Bed

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Gotta get bigger.  Not smaller.  Gotta struggle towards the light, inside and outside.

Reading old posts which I haven’t done in a while.  Marvelling sometimes, if not outright falling down slack-jawed at particular combinations of words.  It is, I guess, making me want to start screaming about how slowly the words are emerging tonight.

It is Labor Day weekend, a fact I can’t quite wrap my head around.

….

You just gotta shake all the other voices out, the good ones nad the bad, and stop relying on anyone to tell you what the truth is.  Because that can only come from the air of now, the cool air moving under the fan and occasionally waltzing over to touch my cheek, to find my inappropriately displayed decolletage and kiss it sweetly.  The air of now, the dark of now, the sum totals.   It can’t be other than it is because of how it is.

I don’t mean to play word games or games at all.

I am drifting in and out of sense.  In and out of confidence.  I don’t want to play.  I want to sleep and rise up brightly and sprightly and care for all the things I’ve not cared for in the past week.  Cast out the slackers.

….

But there are always games and gimmicks and tricks.  They make it easier to build up a head of steam on this, and you’re a nice, sweet, genuinely unreal pile of putty for me to mold about.  You’ll never bake, there is no kiln, but I can press you against the newspaper of my heart with today’s date and today’s horror headlines and for a time, the space of a few sacred sentences, I can breathe life into this form.  I can believe it’s taken deeper than that.  It’s all real.  It’s all true.  I love you and you love me and whatever it is that weighs on my heart is meant for your interpretation.

This is part of my learning anyway.  To think of you here, adjacent.  A part and not apart.  Concerned by my distracted nature this evening, tired, but with a suggestion of something just off enough that my curiosity takes the wheel out of my apathetic arms, you make three jokes in a row.  And like the evolution of man, I find myself ending up upright, a bit confused as to how that happened, but standing steady, hand in a salute to your gifts of cleverness, and gentleness to uplift me so.

To think of your breathing.  To think of your legs, in jeans, barefeet attached and straining my way to touch the same.

If I said I didn’t want this, it’s only because I didn’t know it might be as quiet as the crickets, it might be this soft.  It might threaten everything with whispers and fingers on spines and warmth instead of cool air.  I want all of that, I tell the air both stale and swimming, please arrive with that or tell me the address of that bed.

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