Crop circles
in my mind. What is happening? I touch your eyelids, and you stir a little with
light sleep, but do not wake. I search all along your back with my fingers for
eyes, with my touch a world of knowledge, but I can’t find the seat of heaven.
I can’t find your wings; I can’t even find a single feather. And your skin, so
beautifully untouched.
Another
would see scars, torn tendons, shaken nerves and stale blood running its old
course ever anew. I’m not accustomed to looking for these things. My heart can feel them; will surely know that they are there. Still I choose not to be
conscious.
I only wish
to watch you as you falter silently through the night, turn inwards slowly,
unravel the prisons of your soul, all until every gate is opened. As your mouth
releases soft breath, a sigh so peaceful, I watch myself in the moonlight,
reflected in some pool of oceanic water, going on with no end in the glistening
of sweat on skin. The heat from the sheets soaks into us, holds us captive.
Where are we now?
There is
nothing I want to have answered anymore. I like to think so. I like to imagine falling asleep now, assured in your arms folding me inwards with you. Effortlessly
turned so many times over until there is nothing left but the little light I
hide within. And in that flame which burns with so much fever, your expression
comes to me. You turn into a single feather, bones for wings to be attached to,
the seat of heaven.
I know now,
you have been here before. Holding me like this a thousand times before.
Letting me give up everything to become you. Because you release yourself into my heart.
I touch
your eyelids while wishing for another night and a lone moon beckons to my
whispering;
“Tell me
your name.”