Thu, 19 May 2005

noiseless (good works III)
a variation on a theme by allida

Breath is all I hear, now that the drone of the bedroom television becomes white noise, the end of the broadcast day, bundled up In blankets and quilts, the moonlight refracted by window frost, and like the radiator purring in the corner, I watch you breathe Out, your dreams floating and pooling across the ceiling, the stoplight newly turned on in fall giving them a diabolical glow, that light comes In and changes everything it touches, so that even the sweetest dream becomes catalyst for my fear, and my insomnia. Someday you will go Out and leave forever, tired of the lies, endless talk of how my cures for insomnia and depression will remake me as the man once reflected In your eyes, and kept in your heart, a love as tangible and true as the heat of your arm upon me, or the heat of your breath upon my skin, Out from lips I still remember, aching with the memory of your lips across my belly just just whispering, just waiting, just holding In every fear and doubt left dormant to grow and fester within you, touching the tip of half-dreams of all those other men, better men, Out in the world of lust and nobility and good works, a dream which distracts worse than my endless settling, my weakness, my greed to be Inside you on my own terms exclusively, never once content to take your gentle snoring as a hint, an excuse, a means of quietly staying Out of the trap I’ve set for you, as I gracelessly rest your mouth next to my ear or your thighs beneath my fingertips, and fall back In to the same stupid shit we keep saying we need to change, the night sweat melting into my hair as I stare at the celiling, wanting to walk Out out of this, out of us, out of everything, and so I kiss your neck, melding scents with the dry winter air, and I take it all In for the last time, working up the words, maybe I won’t be so sad on my own.
(12:25.05.19.2005) [/scrytch] #