Desiderata

I am here to learn about patience. When I put my head to your chest to hear your heart beating and there is no sound, is that because I am deaf on the side of your heart or have you indeed no heart, my infidel?
You bring to me your songs of the desert, of redemption and revisitation, and I feel the flimsy but sure desire to be in another place, a shatter of sun above us, the presence of the self: yours and mine.
If I am still, I fancy I can still hear it. My name in your mouth as you brought me into being. Something bloody on the tongue: fluvial, elemental. You unfolded your desiderata and laid it in oils upon my skin so that the words would always belong to me. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Go placidly in it. Strive to be happy.
An apple drops between us, entirely itself before itself becomes known. I hear a crow lift its wings and beat the air into submission. I hear a lark ascend on the notes of its boundaries into the sky. I walk barefoot through the garden of your stories.  You put a finger to my lips, reminding me that I am here to learn about patience. Your mouth smashes into mine, promising me a sudden change of heart, and even as I am falling I wonder if your kiss is just another way of telling me to be quiet and remember what peace there may be in silence.

The copyright of this post belongs to Claire Steele