i watch the abacus keeping it’s tally of hours gone by since i last slept even for a second and i see with wavering vision all the rows of rounded beads numbering seventy-two. this is of no consequence to the black tar-pit formerly known as my mind.
words dripping like hot lead up and out of your tender lungs. i mistook all the crystalline mountains and dreams, for more than the hard glinting cut of fool’s gold. where my body narrows, in the the thin places of my wrists, neck, ankles, i can feel throbbing blood as warmed quicksand of hunger pulsing one voice methodically, “it was a game, it was a game.” well, you should have said it was, i would have played but not for keeps.
so phantom-limb sensations crowd along my body, feeling of the blessed weight that your arms and legs carry as they twined around and embrace me. i only have to shift my self, feel the slick, light movement come too easy and suddenly i am reminded awakened, to realities of you, having never been in sight.