cgs/y post-love-structures

this is the mark from where i was trying to put myself back together while driving in a rainstorm, and the tire left the road for a moment and i skidded a little bit but i didn't die.  this is the mark i got from a very late night in a country far away from this one, falling on the sidewalk on the way home (you know how sidewalks are in that town), and i didn't notice it til the next day.  this is the mark that stayed on my hand after i was reading about the fruits in your center with electricity in the dark, and the next day it transferred from my hand to my own belly that was sick with anxiety, and it wasn't until a week later and long after you'd left that i realized that it looked like the country you live in.

if i could ask the world to speak to me in simpler rhymes, i would, but i know by now it won't listen the way i want it to listen.  i want simple scenes by a canal where there's something running through the blood, but that's all ghosts and verspertine wishes, and i get letters in foam, complex letters, or one letter that is more complex that i once thought, because it has so many places to travel, and apparently so do you, and apparently so do i, and i wonder about the we, and how that might fit if we tried it on.  we don't have to worry about looking ridiculous in a different kind of dress-up, not from this far away, because we can send the best pictures, the ones that make us to be the reflections of what we are wanting to become.

but there's more to it than that, there always will be.  for this, the short version is that i went to the water and asked her to take things away from me, things i didn't want, things i didn't think i needed: this lover was too heavy from the weight of her own indecision, this one was too heavy from her list of acquired reflections of painful identities that connected her and cut her open all at the same time, and this one, the one you lived in when we were in another country, it was very light and it held something that i didn't expect to see, not like clothes that still fit, more like a wardrobe of costumes that had barely been worn but still held the secrets of our saliva and our sweat, the kind that doesn't wash out in german washing machines, and when i woke up the next morning, i found myself wondering if you changed at all, and if your hair was still red.

and when the more to that came back to itself, and revealed itself as even more than that, i swallowed the best parts of the jewel on my lip, and let it start to glow inside my throat, and by the time it reached my heart, i was already in the sea, and i was already in the sea, and i was awake and in love and dreaming, and i thought of you and the way the sea makes patterns in your hair that remind me of the sea, and the burning in my veins is coming in rhythms of seven, and this is the night that i woke up and remembered that we are both children of so many different seas.

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