I've been looking for peace
all day, but it seems
that it takes longer than that
to be conjured from the air
in this house--so thick and lonely.
In pitch black it shouldn't
matter if my eyes are closed, but
I know. I'm procrastinating, dreading
my dreams. They're bound to be
titillating. Just you and your
slow forgiveness, your weary voice.
I never live the life that I
go home to at night. Bereft
of my helplessness, I never cry.
No, in my dreams we're always on fire.
Our arms, these careless flames, tendrils
of light and spectacle. You cradle me
absentmindedly, with permanence.
It is as if being so close
is something innate. A love
un-orchestrated. When I wake I have
reached the January of my loneliness,
such an image meets it's bitter end. Just
a dream, I must conclude. I return
to our less-than-perfect truth
to continue breaking you.
Copyright: Meagan Jeanette 2005