In the crevices of mountains, which may as well be deep in my mind, I see tiny campfires of where you etched upon me, alighted, scorched.
I see your finger-print beauty, the unique, unduplicated, unable to counterfeit countenance. Unrepeatable. But I feel the imprints left upon me.
I feel the gangnam-style hotness, which is when something gets inside your head and as much as you try you cannot get it out. It is triggered in just three notes. You identify, you amplify. And you scrabble around infinitely and absurdly in a Tasmanian dervish whirling and uncatchable.
I remember a slight bead of sweat, tiny salten water from you, not a tear but rather a pearl of liquid on your brow. From a heat from within from a heat I have ignited.
And I remember a true tear and the crush within of having brought it. And then fixed it.
But I struggle in an instant, I pause in a reflection and I ponder at the reveal of what I assume is just a mere drop of rain in a desert of you. If I splash, if I get quietly absorbed. If I get and go unnoticed. If it is forgotten as soon as it is remembered.
But I will take that, take the absorption and the evaporation and the disappearance because it will at least have allowed me to briefly and brightly and just barely touch upon a piece of you.
No comments:
Post a Comment