I had a dream of you
once
stopping me within a fluid
crowd
trying to drown me
with their intoxicating music
you
paused
perfectly,
stopping below a whisper
below the atmosphere
below anything that
taints a broken heart
and you grasped my hand
gently
a gentle breeze pushing against
the catacombs of my soul
you reached below the unabashed
exiled corners of myself
most people avoid
most people fear
for they cannot
push their eyes into
or sculpt with their foolish hands
or drag their famished tongues
across it
but not you
you unearthed something
when you pushed
your soft
gentle
innocent hand
on mine
you melted
the morning sun within me
and
there is little sorrow
when I whisper
--and I hardly
whisper for just anybody--
"I am not sad anymore,
seven days I
wept for you
a week of pure torture
I first thought
seven days I
left my books
forgot the music
and
didn't dance.
seven days
I wept
over my dying Atlas
knowing that if I must die
inside
one thing ought
to live
from my sadness."
then my whisper shattered
spitting into a
spark
a fire of a shout
(perhaps lying about
the sadness I did not feel):
"did you stand there
all alone?
did you cry
for me
in your smallest moment
of pity?
do you
taste
the pang of
bitterness
exceeding mortal thought
devouring a mortal heartbeat that exhales
like a sad
frowning accordion?
did you have to wait
'til sunrise
to make your
decision
about loving me?"
and to myself:
did you find it?
but it wasn't until
that blinding sun was shepherded
into its own soul asylum
that I forgot how
happy one can be
in the shadow of a natural
satellite
or
slow dancing in a burning room
forever.
-k.p.b.
Jan. 26. 2016
Tuesday
12:35PM
