from Falling Past Love by Tobin James Mueller |
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there are no hand holds on the wall of heaven nothing to grasp, nothing but my own descent and i ask the gossamer cord, anchored like a tendon to the muscles of my reaching, as it slides through these hands before they know to close and i realize, suddenly, how motionless i am beneath the sky i ask if standing still drenched in communal sweat and the sweet smell of your saliva, my mouth smiling your smile, remembering the feel of it beneath me this union, i ask if you know it too and the chill of wind cuts through my clothing waiting for a reply, waiting, as density replaces being in each repeated silence from the spasms of no reply i’m pushed, like a newborn, into a world i cannot envision past the dream of it and i ask beneath the single light of the lamp dull and humming in the pre-morn grey as pavement and twice as lifeless i ask myself instead to fly beyond answers here, with nothing to grasp, with no map to lead me back within the wall of you |
text © 2004 Tobin James Mueller
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