what i want to tell you, most beautiful
eyes in the world, is: i can’t speak. i don’t
care which hemisphere you’re in but
that you’re alive, face to face, right here
in front of this muted nose. please forgive
when i try to tell you everything. sure,
there was this one pose - you seemed
at once alert and in repose - emblazoned
in my head for months or maybe years
before we spoke. to call it speaking
is a reach, i suppose. but still, each
word took off in your direction as if
newly coined, giddy with rebirth,
hope, desire and, soon, intent.
there’s just no way to tell you this.
but i will. it’s not up for debate,
either, since i cannot speak. since
i forget the meaning of it. but
you’ll take my hand, i know it.
weak with the stun of a blundered
proposal. i propose we cling like this
forever. i know who you are and
you know where i am. this makes
for endless possibilities. one of which
is me, peering out over the mountains.
we used to talk about needles in haystacks
over the minimalist night-music, which,
once inside the ear, went about the
business of pouring into my head,
infecting me. there was nothing but
feelings (and surely several other words)
as language began to rot away. we planned
to meet, somewhere in the middle, it
feels like you said? is this still happening?
at first, just to touch you (can you feel
me?). i am waiting it could be a long
time. but i feel stupid and unsure
without words. without meaning.
you may remember me attempting
to explain how feeling stupid is like
being at home without a plan. is
alone, pretty much. will i still be
seeing you soon? if i had a memory,
that would be the plan. was always
the plan. until i tried to speak that
one time, feeling such an idiot. oh.
now i think i remember. unwell, flying
around the metropolis without one. just
to feel your...sweater. it’s so cold. oh!
i can see you now. i think. you’re
just a block away. i feel like i
know you, this melancholy that
comes before a most happy
ending. “don’t i?" i
ask, your face in
both of my hands.
