drekar

let me crash in here. let me talk in loud tones. let me burn my skin one more time..

wishing again … but you let the sail fill with wind, and I’m lying down talking in circles about what it might take.. for me. I don’t think you would.. but I would and thats’s why the stair way is cluttered with mights and maybes and I don’t know how many questions..

she wouldn’t remember that he spent that first year pleading with the universe, pleading in prayer imagining it mattered.. it did .. mattered enough to find ourselves in the darkest of corners, that’s where he went to stand. she wouldn’t recall him whole after the hollow drained him into the hollows.. who looks back at that?…a man melting into a feeling, a man feeling the hot air prick of that rejection.. c’mon, she didn’t know it was never her

too soon, he thinks. where is home after going home? where is home after losing people, after losing the precious pain filled heart?… to see her love and hurt was better than never seeing her at all. a killer and a painter, the writer entered through the debate only door and one sacred reality is the memory of her dragged across the bed. he won’t lose it as he remembers it. she won’t gray as he grays, he won’t lose it

Art credit :Portrait of a moor, half-length, smoking a churchwarden pipe. Dutch School, 17th century.