Break the clock. Today the body feasts. Soul slipped in quietly and locked the door. Dogs howled, and All that we never dared to face came to pass. Come in. Everyone bears the bed. Alien voices, wheezing, groans! A coffee table dusted white........ In heaven's fog, In silent phones, Pour—I'll be whiskey mixed with milk. Eye to eye, Growl and claw. All for you, as I desire. Nothing wasted here. The pleasure of flesh........ Do you want to soar tomorrow too?
# That Moment I don't know when it happened— that moment when your face became a foreign country, when the familiar lines turned strange beneath my gaze. Perhaps it was Tuesday, or a Wednesday worn thin with ordinary light, when you looked up from your tea and I saw someone I'd never met. The room held its breath. The clock ticked on, indifferent. I wanted to ask: Who are you? But my tongue had forgotten the architecture of questions. So I smiled— that old, practiced thing— and you smiled back, and we were two people sitting across from each other, pretending we knew the words to this new language we'd somehow begun to speak. Outside, the city hummed. Inside, a silence bloomed like flowers no one planted, beautiful and terrible in the space between us. That was the moment, I think— not when love died, but when it learned to wear a stranger's face, and I learned to call it by its new name.
Share this article