Down on my knees, clutching my hands to my heart, I pray to the stars, the desolate flames of the night that run into rivers of stars. I pray. How do I live? I pray. What do I claim as my own vision? What vision will claim me?
My vision, it hides in my groin, it takes my breath away. It tightens my thighs so I can’t feel the passion of my own dreams. What lingers in my cells that asks for forgiveness? What do I forgive? The vision of love lost, love borrowed, love blue. The night of lovers who tear each other apart like fragile lace that turns to ice and stone.
Love. Lined with thorns. Love seducing the young souls. Love, a web of lies and a womb to lay my head on. Do I forgive this love that preys on my heart like a coyote cry. Love, you arouse my wet senses and then leave me as dry as an autumn leaf. You make so many promises of eternal life and passion. Love, the vision, hangs on a cross. Love, it flies on wings. Love, who are you and what will you bring to my door or light through my window.
I cling to my belly where an insatiable need to pour out and drink in love wanders, lost and desolate from a humanity that has forgotten that love is bittersweet, and deeper than any word or phrase or sentence or image can hold onto. Look at the moon, Love, look at the moon…where do you hide? Black is so seductive and love dark lives…that is the vision left from the residue of grieving, ecstatic love, lover after lover after lover.
How do you keep living?
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