April 21, 2010

Dinner in the Garden

I didn't know we were allowed to live here in the sky, sipping on stars, lost in light, upside down and turned the fuck around. We waited our whole lives to discover the sweet fun of blindness.

Falling was ordained. Carve me up, woman. Dive inside my chest. And I'll crawl up your ass. Then we'll burst out at the same time and put the jeweled pieces back together for our daily work of art.

Go to work. Dinner will be ready when you return. No, I don't mind working in your kitchen, and that's because you don't mind working for me in the bedroom. Yeah, I don't mind running my big mouth, and that's because I can back it up, sometimes.

We'll save the jokes for later. I mean, I'll save the jokes for later. Right now, I want to drop into your eyes and catch and the wind from your childhood, tear a chunk from my soul and plant it in your garden, hang paper lanterns from your sky, climb into your deepest well and touch the holy water lightly with the back of my hand. Then I'll think about what to make for dinner.


thinkingtoohard said...

Every woman's dream man, right here.
Beautifully written, as always.

Tori said...

Where do I sign up?! Nicely done.

Zoro said...

This writing feels like slashing hay, allowing the dust of cultivated grass to slant the mind's really close and intimate intentions. It expresses unfettered love for the person I haven't met and flaying the grass for the mill is purely a simple act of devotion.