I wonder if I manifested you out of the chill mist that creeps in during winter. Leftover remnants of a feeling of longing, so familiar, yet so long away. I feel as if I’ll wake to a clear cool morning, this version of a dream god embracing me turning out to be nothing more than my own fancy. But the sensation of this electric schism doesn’t seem to obstruct my view. How can I love an apparition? A shade I feel is just a memory or future chasm of thought.
Is this what it says? Is this the way it was written? Meant to be this abstract and magnetic polarity that has grabbed onto the atoms in my being? Or is it merely a wisp of cotton cloud gliding over the sun’s face?
Do you have a face? Eyes that demand gazing, lips that demand poetry? Are there spiders of longing building webs in your hair? Do your dreams weave with me into a realm of ice and heat and floating orbs? Are the words really present? Is it someone I know breathing twilight against my skin?
I kept the secret of how I built my defenses, how I kept everyone out. And how someone gets in.
My walls were built of blood and bone and ink. Carbon elements as hard as diamond along the perimeter, as soft as graphite in the in-between spaces. Dry, parched paper desperate for a drink of liquid language, and bits of my own neural activity made the mortar. All it would take to break through is observation on the part of the Conqueror. One has but to look at the joints and fissures and cracks to know how to get through. I have but to exist, and the one who knows would know.
Of course, the life I grew inside my body, my womb, she morphed and evolved knowing this already. She helped me build this fortress. She reached up with budding fingers and hands and clasped my soul hiding in the dark, hiding in the swirling nebula of embryonic fluid. She gave me new life, and helped me build the fortifications to keep trespassers out.
And then the dreams became lucid. I saw the unseen, communed with the Mother God of placentas, birthing lava out of the mouths of infant mountains. The dreams became my sustenance, my life force. I became this disc of rotating plasma, entering the world at will.
Still my walls held. Still my armor deflected surges of control, fear, and hated storms. But my light was dim. Weakened by self neglect and self defeat.
And then your words appeared before me, in front of my eyes, demanding I take them all in, take them in and let them build to a crescendo of heat and lightning. I want to come because I can. I want to rend the air with my wilfull voice, I want to know what this feels like from inside my physical spaces, I want to let you in. I want to move against you, a dance that knows what Love is, a dance that does not hold expectation or judgment or betrayal.
I want to trust, and feel newborn stars committing themselves to friction release inside the both of us.
Take me, because I give myself freely. I am here, opened to your poetry, opened to the point of shattering. I will be destroyed. But I want to feel it.
I want you to tear down this wall.