breath sacrament

Just once I wish it was the ocean. Just one time let it be the talk of the tide. The flecks of foam and the crashing waves. Our kisses warm, our faces wet. The sea sounding like thunder as we savored the day. It’s not a memory we share, at least not with both of us there.

In truth it is as much as story as it is an entanglement. A want cast in words and pictures. Descriptions of kisses. Lots of declared love. The things we say we say. The reckless draw of want, the ceaseless magic of wish. We make ourselves in saying things we take for truths.

Still, I say your name aloud in my shabby room. Piles of dusty books and knickknack idols witness the press of air, the sharp startle of my voice out loud. Your name, flashing before an aching gaze in sacramental breath, touching the all of you I adore. This tide of tumbled blood, this earthly invocation. These open hours, folding the ghost through rushing pronunciations, your incandescence on my breath. Even now, in this reading, your name aloud.