Sita

stream of consciousness ramble
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I crave adventure all the time. I crave dizziness and speed, smoke and powder and wonderful hazes I can fall into. What is this frenzied breathing? I am cold in the dark and- hold on, pulse thready, my skin like paper, white and cool. Lost in the rhythm of words, time, and bated breath. I am not crazy.

You hold this thought like a rosary, threaded through your fingers at night when you’re too cold to fall asleep, and too enamored by fantasy to move. The fantasy gradually slides into dreams, but they’re the kind of dreams you don’t forget. You dream of webs of people, all tied together through love and desperation and lust and hatred and necessity. Beyond that even, everyone is tied from their souls to the infinite sky and stars that you will probably never quite understand, and from their minds to the pregnant earth, who never stops giving birth to things you will definitely never learn. This is when the whole world yawns before you, you peer in at the blue abyss and you just go to sleep.

You are not simple, and sanity is no easy task. I chase elusive rabbits and imagine myself a sunray. Paint pictures in my mind. Flute and guitar, float and strum, linger like the heat, fade slow like the stars in the blue dawn light. It fills me up and overflows in hot tears. To close my eyes, tilt my head back, breathe slow and even. I’ve never ceased to feel helpless to my emotions.

Love is a beautiful demon that
lurks, silent yet looming, waiting
to swallow the mind and
wreak havoc on bruised nerves,
chill the skin with fever
and gnaw at the space
between the ribs
up toward the heart.

* *

You slip into my room and we let the silence pervade, holding off the start of the day just a little longer. I wake up from sweet dreams and watch you. Why do you have to look at me the way you do? Don’t speak of tearing winds, the limitless sky, beauty sketched on sidewalks and subway cars, our eyelashes starred with rain.

My dreams are shoots of grass, young and weak and so very alive.

I am trying to escape. My car is my place of solace, but even it couldn’t keep you out. Five hundred miles to the ocean, and every song was laced with you. Salt water stings the eyes, and I think drowning might be the better fate for us all.

Toes dig into sand. Your ribs are splayed like wings across your back.

* *

We are drunk and sugar high, well-fed, bright and good-looking. Things are dizzy, excessive, but not quite enough to satisfy. If I could tell you, what would I say? I love you without reason, and without hope for return. Oh lovely pain, oh ecstatic yearning. It’s just easier this way. That’s what i told myself before i gave into the shock, tumble, fall and burn. And it burns like too-cold ice on aching skin. i don’t want to let you go. You’re magic. You make my blood hot. You make me lose control, and that’s exactly the point.

under canopies of rainlight haze / this is when I start to count the days / when your eyes met mine when we were born for this / here i stand in sweet darkness / you’re a poet, you’re salvation / we’re winged children in hibernation
* *
And it comes down to this: I will stand wide-eyed and wind-torn in your storm. Your eyes will electrify me and your voice will resonate like thunder in my veins. I will let it hurl me against the road,

And when it’s all over, I’ll stand alone between the shadows of rain-light.

Baptized.