2nd March, 2015
a message to you (but not for you):
i. i would like to plant padi in the tenderness of your tongue — watch rivers shift and trickle out of your mouth’s tactfully cold cave. from there descends an alluvium of words — loud, unspoken — to erode any barriers between us.
ii. north has the brightest buds, south the quietest slosh of met palms. we’ll be put on a stove: caressed blades, plowed misfortune, schools of thought, streams of unhooked, meandering fish; left to simmer, right to be wronged.
iii. silt is made strong by a relentless urning of stream, yet at sundown let us lay weak on our backs, with lips like saline and a confluence of attention.
iv. i imagine this: you and i flowing together as currents but withdrawing like the tide. (never forever, never for long.) still, we stand before an empty land; our fingers unfurl, and between us always, always a grain to spare.