It’s always there. She lives here. She thrives just below the surface of everything. There’s no explanation, and I’m not going to try and write any sort of erotic poetry about it. Music doesn’t express it very well either. Not my music anyway. It’s like a sliver of glass in my mind, no, not in my mind. Well… yeah, it’s in my mind. It may all be in my head. I don’t know… how would I know?
Somewhere between silence, heartache, longing, devotion, and doors flung open all out adoration, admiration, respect, compassion and friendship is this unconditional self abuse I picked up somewhere. She’s been a companion of mine for some time. Years.
We don’t talk, but she’s always got her hands in my pockets. Before I can reach in to grab the change in there you know… the penny to avoid getting back another 99 to add to the already jingling pocket full? her hands are already there, keeping warm, holding on. We don’t touch, but when I go to take off my jacket, I can’t get it off because her arms are wrapped around me. I don’t want to take it off. So I sit on the couch, or a hard wooden chair, and take a deep breath. I want her arms around me, so I just wait until she lets go so I can hang up my coat. She never lets go. I sleep in my coat.
We don’t see. But i see.
I haven’t got any oatmeal for her, nor would I ever show her the door. So I sit quietly and just listen to my heart beat. With my fingers and toes crossed that somehow, some way this love will radiate outward, out from the core of my being, and into the universe. May my particles be absorbed into all things, somewhere, far beyond this treehouse, where love is welcome, received, and a blessing indeed.
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oh what a beautiful enigmatic writer you are…