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Array
(
[sid] => 69801
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Feels Like Home
[time] => 2004-11-02 07:57:45
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => We sink into a spot designated, him and me, amid brush of prickly leaves; parasite strangling trees--humming sometimes on our way there. Quiet. Worshipping desperate fumes out of spray cans into the air. His back presses up against the same piece of bark as before the memories forever and the making of more. Spray-painted renderings on invisible walls offer a chaos of color on a million different things. Feels like home for now. Hidden in trees. Furnished with secrets at a hundred degrees. Imagination turns thick branches into walls. Hiding in between them; leaning but we don't fall. Feels like home for now, sandwiched in between the maddening thought of both of us leaving. We aim spray into imaginary treasure chests. Protecting them. Take deep breaths. An echo of our pleasure grates the sky. Home for now, both getting high. Stream of beautiful mess ends up where-ever, The creamy invasion just keeps getting better. This river, this concrete river that I swim in, becomes a steaming, bubbling hot bath of the wrath of our sin. Nightmares rush in, pouring out a flush of emotion. A flow of cloudy liquid on a cloudless day makes the nightmares feel okay. Not like the dirty stains we lie in, Not like the factory air we're breathing; Not this plastic death I'm living. He is the nova of my born intentions. We should be flowering petals in some other dimension. Soon time/fulfillment/realization wane into a pulsating rhythm of saying goodbye. I enter a tunnel of whispering, softly blurring to a glare of lights behind tears welling inside. I want to be there, in perpetual dreaming; in the din of exquisite screams. I want to know this lover-comfort surging through me as we leave. He is a sliver of god on a platter; a perfection of everything that matters. He is a hovering spectre bleeding sacred time into my hands. He is an artist sneaking out of a painted life with impossible demands. He is my Extraordinary, seeking the security of my love, fleeing weary places where beauty becomes unfamiliar faces. I revel in this heavy shroud. I want to be buried in it-- to be sculptured and enraptured with it. In his crafty hands, crumbled too fine time like sand. 'Let me go with you!--to stay entangled in this messy serenity!' But over me is his face, mouth breathing back life that is reality, actually. I feel the gush of dirty air and cold, the rocks and sidewalk begin to look old. 'Run away with me, please' I beg. 'I can't, sweets' he said. 'You won't stop breathing and die.' I don't cry. He picks me up, I float to the sky. Towards the light of a sun and quickly rise. I'm blind. I entice him to burn. If we come back then we didn't learn. Quiet. Feels like home for now. Not a concrete river, but an untouchable vow. The nova slipping into my eyes deep, comforts me as I bleed. I think we need a really good memory. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 150 [topic] => 2 [informant] => Red_October [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => LovePoetry )
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