She says, Now is not the time. And I don't know
what she means. Is it the weather? The day or hour
we've chosen to meet? I guess it doesn't matter.
Because the time is not now. But if not now, when?
I have been haunted for too long
by your face. Your skin. Like I killed you
and now I cannot be left alone. You are the heart
beneath the floorboards. The name across my wrist.
The ringing in my ears when I descend the stairs
too quickly. We can hear it in the walls -- it calls to us.
The reasoning is: something like that. Something like improper?
Or unacceptable? Or is it something like: I want you.
I don't trust me with you. You make me shine and hate myself,
all in the same glorious moment. Is it something like that?
'Cos I won't be around forever. I am in need of a new ocean, for this one
is filled with bodies. And spectres. And spectators. I drowned
them all before they could profile me. You're the one that got
away. And you are brilliant to keep your distance.
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