Origami

On my body, you will find

The lines you’re looking for. These creases

are just old enough – for the lines

To not become borders. impenetrable.

Impregnable. Trace your fingers across

My solar plexus, and you will

Find

 

[Pigeons soar alongside, I see them

Racing to stay in my line of vision

As we hurtle on, epiphanies within

Sight. They throw themselves

At me only to hit duplicitous glass. Now,

The light turns liquid and flows down

The cracks they leave behind.]

 

                                       The light

Of a million galaxies trickling down.

If you listen closely, there’s bird song

Too. You will bend me, and I will

Comply. Rehearsed; this routine isn’t

A lie. But it isn’t the truth either.

 

There are only questions in these folds.

 

These folds that are grey with age.

 

This is an age unwilling to bend.

But around the bend, lies the answer.  

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Momentum

This time, they sought
the dark corners of the Web
to hide in. Anonymous, shedding
off all identity, this is where
they would let it blossom. For now.

They’d tried, and failed,
to keep a low profile. No public park,
heritage monument, or obscure cafe,
brimming over with so many like them,
could contain the music

Of their rising, overwhelming
affection for each other. Public
display was another matter —
They weren’t sure who had earned
the right to witness those moments.

They always came, invading
upon their continent of silent,
imagined kisses. But this at least,
they believed, was worth it.
Worth protecting. Worth preserving.

Even matchbox-sized rooms,
with the sun drawing needle-thin
lines across the terrain, was not
enough. They always came,
wondering what was being strangled

Or birthed. Contain. Compress and
compose. Words, now, were
their choice of coitus. Only, they feared,
no turn of phrase ever invented
could describe the enormity of

This accelerating crescendo.