two girls

I was less convinced than persuaded, following the music, losing the words to the song. All the argument of flesh and air a slick chorus, a hacking away in the midst of breath. All the worrisome details traced in sun and shade, stark relief and the full retinue of nothing. Forgetting that feeding all these mosquitoes is only another sub-set of bleeding, whatever the remainders of swarms and disease. All the Houdini releases, every chain shrugged away for effect. I counted backwards, and then began.

Radiant and lavish, there is always the telling call of dusk that is your flesh. Some hint of sunlight, some smoldering truth. The blanks all full and respectful, the writing bell clear and ocean blue. You bathe in some dense abstractions, beginning with prayer and ending as tattling. It all glides like water, like light learning to drive across your stretch and pause. The words are there, falling from my lips in a fever. The words are all, and then are lost.

There is a single light, and retreads of songs. There is brass and voice and something too soothingly fickle. The language never learned another world abandoned, the certainty only clinging to the bones. Here amid the honest tellings. Here where the scale is only worked by thumb. Heaviest where the empty gathers, truest when it winds through dreams. A kiss that makes it better, a bite bereft of teeth.