July 1&2, 2006- Liminal

a. Prologue

She loves you: of that

I’m certain. I’m just not sure

if, in the end, that will be enough to bind

and clip her (need for) wings.

She needs you when

you are the man, when

her head has found the perfect

spot on your chest, and your

strong hands wrap around

her neck and head and

shoulders and

your heart is beating on

her cheek: moved

by the fiercest of affections,

she needs you then.

But

Without warning, cause,

or will, the glory effuses

and diffuses

into violet

effervescence, limitless and

cold.

b. Intermission

Inevitably—the hurt will come.

And should I have written and

explained this all to you before,

would you have read and

learned it all, and still yet

chosen to draw it out to this

bare point?—Inevitably.

c. Interruption

No one thinks ill of their own

heart, initially,

whether of the Ill it makes or

the Ill it takes: we ignore

it in the hopes that it will

smother and drown. But it doesn’t-

it just breeds and grows

and festers till it becomes the Restlessness

that gnaws-- that

is the true graveyard for

broken hearts—once there, it is just

so much easier

to die and release

than to walk through the ghosts

and keep beating. I

keep speaking as though

this were getting through to you—is it?

I’m saying that I’ll hurt you,

on some level, I want to, and

on a lot of levels I don’t, but I will,

and I don’t know if I can leave this

knowledge in your hands and have you understand,

understand exactly, just exactly

what it is

that I need you to understand.

d. The End

the Frustrations, and the bitchy things, the

whiny, shrill, and shallow things we do

and say will get to us. If not now, and here

is gone, then later. You will want me

faithful and fancy and me, and so I will be

in the way that I am- not the ways

that you want me to be. And I’ll [am] grow [ing] bored

and bite my nails and lips and yearn

for anything that makes me feel less itchy

in my skin, and more like water, fire, or wind.

But you- you are my earth; at least, I think I want you to be

my center, deep secret dark soil;

gravity, where all my thoughts return and fade

into spider’s silk, strung and draped

like Heaven’s lace behind your eyes.

e. Epilogue

And that’s how I’ll hurt you.

So be waves, or tongues of flame, or air, or anything that you can be,

But not earth, because—

because—

I cannot want you to die through me.