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13/8/13

Paths

be sorry for the others
who
fidget
complain

who
constantly
rearrange their
lives
like
furniture.

juggling mates
and
attitudes

their
confusion is
constant

and it will
touch
whoever they
deal with.

beware of them:
one of their
key words is
"love."

Charles Bukowski - For The Foxes

There's a reason 
that there is a footpath
in and out of planes, leading all the way up my spine.
You wanted to be able to take part in miracles,
while mine were accounted for, 
many (blue) moons ago.

Ultimately, 
there's nothing more that takes me back 
to the tiny hairs on your shoulders
than when it's dark, 
when everything seems more enhanced. 
Drinks taste better in the dark, 
as does anything between a pair of legs, 
any pair of legs.
Add shadows to the walls and I belong there.
Consider me those crumpled up bed sheets 
between your body and the mattress.

Except these memories have decided to move
to the southern hemisphere of my brain
to a small village next to the sea 
where there are no phones.

Let it go just like I've let everything else go, 
let myself go,
like you let me go. 
Oil slipping through ducts of well-versed fingers 
and a mouth 
that was the only thing worth caving in on, 
in tiny rooms, in tiny beds, in cages,
in a city under a city. 

Our gravitational pull was never a coincidence, 
any more than it is coincidence 
that you are reading this. 

Old sweet nothings 
are ever since repeated to newcomers.
You probably deserve everything equally as ordinary 
as you are.

Mia Rincón