To touch is to feel?
October 23, 2010 § Leave a comment
‘He’s the kind of boy who sneaks peanut butter and baked beans for breakfast, and tells you he’s had a croissant.’
I don’t care what he’s had or had not. He’s had me, for sure. And plenty more.
When the green lines reach the wide-eyed, there is a light. When the mountain evolves into a building as you near, there is a light. And it goes out out out. With the old.
In come the new, the blue and the half-bruised, broody boys on bicycles. I don’t care who you’ve had when I want you to have me.
Except no one really ever has anybody.
And that’s my Aesopian ending.
What, you want more from me? I’m only a line in a room of lines. Waiting to be intersected by a green one, or intercepted by my own family.
I’m only a deer in a forest of fur. And I’ve twisted my ankle to bend your will. In the morning it is purple like a sunset. I feel summer set inside me like concrete. I make you lemsip like I knew this day would come, and I dwell on it like a troll. We love almost, and I turn over to touch my touch-light. Black black black black black black black bible black billboard black. Like when there’s nothing attached, and a tunnel has entered my soul instead of the other way around.
I pull the sheet over my head and pretend it is a shroud. I am dead as if I were dead. I rationally decide to end, and I go up to the rooftop with a glass of water. You are feeding your life philosophy with the sight of my thighs disappearing through the skylight.
I just wanted to be primed and wiped clean again, slate-clean, I wanted to begin again. I wanted you to write your name on my left-hand corner, so that I could feel I was of use to you.
I see the bankers and the waiters and the lies lies lies. I see Maria feeding her child in an arrangement of skin and eyes. Why, me too, me, I am an indefinition in an indefinite ending. So I come back down, and I am aware of all that has ended inside me when I was up there, on the roof of 23 Stephen’s Green.
You put me to bed, and you do not touch the touch-light.