Our Greatest Years Have Passed Like Flowers
Gripped, saturated like moss, I desire rain. With Corsican mint trickling over smooth pebbles, miniature conifers and magnolias – you know this garden is beautiful – know how you could never let me go. I carry this sentiment on yellowing paper.
With fingers like spokes we do not touch. We resist the urge to name names - remain abstract.
Whispers of your sheets inked in my mind make my back arch, a tsunami. I ache for your magnetic weight in eggshell skin.
Heavy with the inability to return to this dream, I tell you that I will find you everywhere, but in this moment, you don't want to be found.
You used to make lamps but stopped when we divined each other. You think about new ways of creating light but we can only talk in its absence. I close my eyes, see bioluminescence. Our fingers are wet in the cold night.
So much time has passed that the corners of your eyes are twisted vines.
We delved too deeply.
By Leanne DunicQLRS Vol. 11 No. 4 Oct 2012