No matter where you go, there you are-- the t-shirt wisdom read through heat bent air. The flesh lends its dissembling to the whole of the mess. Rivulets trickle down my temples, a deluge between shoulder blades soaking through my shirt. It is always off beat, out of focus. That precious fall, that beautiful mistake. The certainties always waiting on faith to fall through. The ephemeral always measured best in blood and bone.
We share the air, the tender vagaries of the weather. Sun on the skin, ice on the tongue. The clotted boiling arteries of lapse and transition. The bruised reach and the ever-after endings. We are renamed and reborn, mouthing these pleasantries that seem like fruit. We pretend after the way of treasure, know all the things found out from the ruthless devouring of sanctified flesh. Tell me your price, tell me if this is your chosen card. Tell me why you can only love me in these leavings. Tell me why I can only know you once you go.
We have this day, there are no others. The past is shed in all but the clinging of scent and favor, tomorrow wound so tight it is bound to break. Dusk wanders in from the shallows, bringing every single startling depth. Dusk brushes your hair just to see your face as light loses. The pretty words leave your pretty lips, spilling into the silty dark. Give me a reason amid all these wasps and flowers. Give me that last gift of fever, something to feel before all the feeling turns.
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