Comfort me and by that I mean distract me.
Teeth against skin, lips against bone, the deviant perversions your mind wraps me in. Cocoons threading themselves with moonlight. Point to the constellations and take me out of everything I cannot stand about who I am. What I have been unable to become will not matter when you hold my hand. I want everything strange and new and uncomfortable again. Remember the way the rain only made touching more erotic and intimate, instead of colder, instead of just wet?
There are traces of that side of me when I lie in bed awake but with my eyes closed. I dream I am expected to perform before a faceless disinterested crowd who will grow angry toward my ignorance. I do not know the lines I was given, I was too afraid to practice. I do not know the stage directions, I fall limp and lifeless underneath the lights.
These are the dreams you watch yourself in, a mix of compassion and loathing dripping through the purple veins you swear you could crawl inside, swear you could touch. Bend at the neck, bend at the knees, look up at me. Summer nights twisting sweet in my mouth and the smell of blue sky behind pinkflowering trees could carry me straight through to oblivion, leave me exhausted and luminous on the beaches of eternity. I am the last, I am alone. I am sun rays, the heavenly outline of forbidden excess, a lonesome liquid salt sparkling high.
They say if you can align yourself with the current instead of fighting it, the river of life will sail smooth right through you. How do you feel when I stand so close your heart quickens and I ask you to slow your breathing?
Open my
hands, to the left is alignment,
to the right is harmony,
along my sides are identical carvings of the universal language of ecstasy, the apex of desire, the end of punishment, the end of religion, the crumbling of science and humanity.
Love is a pale dew garden with her fences left open, fate is a graveyard sloping out over the stars, but what I want is the way your unkempt chaos disrupts the mud in my mind and churns around the stones I’ve been throwing into the mad void for ages.
What I want is to pour forth everything that swells within me so that I can come before you empty, ready to drink in the darkness and overflow at the brink of the fountains of my erratic heart again.
Hold me and by that I mean be forever letting me go.
Comfort me and by that I mean
extract me.
.
.
Allison Marie Conway 