Photo by Jonathan Knepper on Unsplash
Now, more than ever… I am absorbed in the white of snow and the vibration of night insects. The cold relief of ice-cream and how the up-and-down movements of your chest in slumber reminds my fear to stay away. It isn’t love we need sometimes, it is its confirmation by presence.
I Don’t Know…
There is nothing I hate as worthlessness. It is the remnant of wetness when the wave has left the shore. I try to remember who I was before and the memory is empty— my tongue smart at the slap of aged wine. I want an aliveness. Something old and so tainted it comes out pure. you know how we used to find happiness? it was in not trying— we let time be, let it be omniscient while we let our smallness envelop us. I look out the window and dew is on the grass and the air has a coolness— there is someone sharing my existence with me.
A short one
And I have a new name for fear. It is love or lust or desire—whatever makes me stretch like bones longing for relief. During our last days all I could think about was keeping you. It was the first symptom recorded before the crash.
Jim Wyoming writes from somewhere in the northern hemisphere. He writes poetry now and then.