The pans are cooling on the stove;
curtains flutter in the breeze.
The night is lovely,
the streets are quiet,
we will not ponder the disease.
The champagne boxes are all emptied
you may sit on them, if you please,
and together we may wonder,
the depth and sweetness of our dreams.
close your eyes, close your eyes,
there is nothing left to see today
rest in warmth and wonder and
allow the night to slip away,
dream sweetly; smile, love,
your labouring is done, today,
breathe steadily, then quietly,
let dreams go where they may.
the sky, the ocean, boundless depths
of precious gems, reflections of
lithe bodies, celestial, wisps of the milky way – a splotch
of starlight here, the rosy hue of a nebula there,
a darkness deeper than the night,
the drive to dive and feel
the sand in our fingers, the starlight sifting
through our hands,
pooling at our feet;
the urge to disturb these natural wonders,
to contain, to subjugate, to reach
places left unreachable;
to mark the stars with our treads,
to mar all perfect things.
Smoke slips through the night
the fire burns to embers –
we witness the dawn.
There is a road that winds through many hills,
A river of tar striped with the shimmer of starlight,
And when you drive it at night,
And all is blackness but those leering stars,
You may go up a hill and feel as though
You’re driving into the cosmos itself,
And you close your eyes, go on, close your eyes,
And feel the rocketing engine under your feet,
Smell the coppery odor of nothingness,
So close now, so close to the void,
And all you must do to get there
Is keep your eyes in darkness.
“Helen, I have something that I really need to tell you.”
The clock read 12:63 (it was broken), and the pair was settling in for a night of intense humidity and unrest. Helen righted her readers, and the sum of her form contorted at the discomfort only brought by the commencement of a lover’s revelation. Continue reading “Vending Machine Repairman’s Ball”