Sharks

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She said:

There have been a ridiculous amount of  synchronicities:
I realise now how much I am in your ocean.

I said:

My dear, then not a drop of dark tincture cast in these clear waters in which we swim,
a vast ocean in which no matter at what end you lie,
I sense you in the very reverberations of the molecules around me –
the slightest tremor!

And must turn in your direction and with blind eyes penetrate the depth searching for your form,
and begin the journey to find you and at last embrace you with every ion of my Being…

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Were you ever called a whore?

 

 

We fall,
and hard,
and in the shadows,
prick ourselves on snags,
that tear our clothes;
grazed and cut,
we stagger on –
Impressions, ideas, fancies!
Of these have we been disabused.

But is this spring,
come again?

Lovely,
yesterday,
in the bright sunlight,
to see you,
felt green hat in among the photo clouds,
apple suedes on the gallery’s damp floor.

Melvyn,
and I,
merrily circling with you the light cloud images,
my nostrils full of pollen spikes.
The pictures:
wisps of trailing dreams churning in ‘scapes of infinite blue;
dark clouds, too.

Photographs in two time places,
caught;
at once, all:
the one and tother.

So excitement swells,
and everything besides us quells,
because the knowing of itself,
knows,
and dares beyond the frames;
to skirt knowingly the unsaid;
to want beyond the wounded past,
to pull things,
once again,
inside out.

In whimsy’s currents flow these thoughts,
these feelings,
these drives;
eddies swirling in these waters,
so that as you sit,
on a summer’s day,
it moves,
a mirror to everything, above.
The wavelets on the surface,
hammered into shape,
burn, bite and dazzle;
the sun’s flames leaping and dancing on the ripples.

In the basement,
on the concrete floor,
your Y proneness shifts,
releasing knees on black-clad thighs;
two pendulums swinging,
brushing;
yawing metronomes in the cool,
coolness of my desultory thoughts.

Oh, what am I saying?
Feelings like reveries walk along these silver lips straying langerously.
These myths are too soon made,
carried one to the next,
one-on-one,
until contained no longer,
become new truths.