more a gentle summer breeze really,
a mere puff of air,
the sounds of each letter of my disclosure
a balmy, zephyr, marshmallow
melting on my tongue.
but it's her hand that touches me,
a cat's paw on my skin
a compass pointing to the silent passages
between the sound of each letter
of my disclosure.
the transcendent, torrid, tortuous sense,
heightened when restrained,
ecstatically freed from cocoons,
winged butterfly kisses
yet to be confessed.
Let's invent a new language she said,
One in which even the smartest can play god
on the limbs of others.
Okay I said but why
are we doing
this?
You're not the sharpest knife in the drawer, R U?
She replied.
None-the-less I broke the code
and saved the world,
once again,
from total annihilation.
I must confess however
I found the words floating in my bath tub
along with the essential construct.
All I did was just hold on tight
and run.
To cast my secrets into the fire
Requires anonymity,
Shape shifting magic.
Bird Headed Angel Child should do it,
No one will think of looking there.
Veiled whispers reversed,
Putti lobotomized,
Trees wither,
Language crumbles
And
Disintegrates.
Beware straight black lines
She said
And listen
Carefully
To the poetry
Of clouds.
My confessions become
Smudged charcoal
And falling ash.
Oh say don't you hear
The old gods
Laughing.
the reach is absolute
and final
embedded in my skull
that button, that screen
i don't see the sun much
anymore
i decorate myself
with ancient dreams
i'm expected to confess
six times a day
(seven on Nature Nostalgia Day)
my favourites are the tree egg
and the animatronic moose
(but i'm not allowed to touch)
leaving the eye nest
diving into green man
this is who we were
risking everything
confessing nothing
because we could
she knew immediately
the symbolism, the references,
the memory, the fantasy.
there are people in my life
who know more about me than I do.
I make my confessions to them.