Tuesday 4/22/2008 12:08:00 AM

Skin like cataracts. There is only the intention of touch. We see by sound. The sound. Lips dividing like Velcro ripping apart. The scream of defeated friction. All we have left is gravity. The physics of falling.

We flirt with time. Teasing the quantum. Charming what cannot be charmed. The science of seduction lies in our misinterpretations of one another. In our willingness to ignore the facts.

I can go back. As often as I wish. Time is an external force. But there's no one there. A million moments splitting into billions of quarks. Microscopic dances of flesh drowning inside a fingertip.

We're too big. To fit inside each other.

Rogue time machines on the whims of sex. Proportioning starvation.

We're too small. Caterpillars. Cocoons not lasting. The exit only makes the hole larger.

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2021. All Rights Reserved.