The words were poison on my skin, a tattoo;
permanent until her cool breath, enveloping
contrition and sadness, will wash away the
memory, toward the end of disbelief.
She asked a question…one better left sitting on
the shelf, on the premise that everything she
means, means something more than what
she says…who she is.
I watch the question slide across the air, the
space between us a million miles, less than
a blink; it falls across that chasm and stains
like a shadow.
“Do you love me the way I love you”, she looked
though that space between us with intent…
the weight of unrealized dreams pressed
tightly against hopes.
I hold my breath for an instant, for an hour, a
day and then weeks seemingly flow around
us…and I think about who I am, who
I want to be.
Inside my thinking grows the kernel of a truth
an origin of honesty in layers of personal
deceit…all geared towards hiding who I am
when I am who I think I should be.
“No” is the truth but not the truth because
I guess not know what she feels…in my world
are guesses suspicion estimates and all
based on this side of my eyes.
I don’t know can’t know want to know
but see that knowing is never to be mine
never to be who I am…her words are right
and hurting and sitting on my skin.
Time ticks slowly toward the next and next and
next…while she shifts her dreams slightly away
from the center, anticipating where the vibration
will settle and resonate.
That’s where I am now; suspension…sitting looking
watching wondering after words slide past me,
over and through my thoughts…matter vibrating
between states, between moments…