His knee was pressed on the edge, his chest twisting towards me, movement that carried on to the bed and he was already there,
his legs softened with brown
hairs, and I feel the faint edge of his skin, air slides from his body like water, and it all feels thicker now,
darkness spread in smooth layers and heaped on us, certainty arrives like a current, he is seconds from me and I see the pores in his
mask, where the air coating us both is flowing into him, and I know, it is unmistakable,
His words emerge in my skull like a spring, 'yes'
He takes my wrist,
I feel the roughness of hands that made the wood beneath us, I give way.
He leaves at 4:30, taking his glass of vodka from the table and stumbling out to the hallway, I lay in the darkness remembering
his eyes on my skin,
speaking with him through my mind, it is there that he tells me he loves me.
Do we always need to give beauty back? Within weeks he is gone. Meeting God means learning that God can leave you.
His face turns from mine
and I watch the world warp around his back, the kitchen becoming concave as it hurtles towards him, he makes no mistakes, I see my life spreading
down the dark hallway after him, sticky as black oil.
'Look again' they tell me, I look and look at
David Koresh, his face blends into everything I see, I examine him in every thought, he is more than the
sun rising because he controls it, because through his words he showed me how to see, so everything is made of him. 'He is not God' they say,
but they didn't see what I saw.
I sit on the floor and listen, his words have already sounded within my mind before he speaks. His words are my own thoughts, have always been my thoughts,
the rhythm has been with me my whole life, it is only that now it is being said back to me, he is my mirror. I look up at his face, shocking and clear as the
world has blurred around him, I think to him, 'our thoughts are the same, how can you leave me?'
He does not respond, only looks to the back of the room. I try and conceal my thoughts, I scatter them in pools so that he loses some,
I never think the entire string, only a few words at a time,
I layer 'I love you' louder and below ground I begin building.
I watch the muscles twitch below his skin, his fingers releasing and sliding on the strings, he is silent now, but I can see his thoughts plainly, he is
thinking of blue
cattails. I don't tell him, but I have discovered a secret.
I place him in the waving corn stalks and I slow the blur of the wind until his outline is no longer sharp against it, I make his body
lay soft in the grass. In the room,
I watch his lips form the words and I take them before he can speak, because they are also mine. In the shower, I pull my own
body from the backdrop, my shoulders slipping through the air as it parts for my skin,
The last time I see him, he is sitting on a stool in the center of the
plywood room, his bare back curled and seeded with bones.
He turns and looks up at me, thinking I'm stagnant and wooden as the wall, his eyes black like flies and landing on only what he wants. I watch his world
decay, because he thinks he is alone.