in a moment of lupine realization it will come upon you
as the second drop of rain does so before a gentle shower;
that had you unhinged your jaw and filled the molten glass
with your warm breath before standing as a child does
in wont of incorrigible affection,
the day may have grown softer, less frenetic...
mellow, ethereal.
that laughing while crying and tasting the aeriform air
heavy with saline on that indeterminate evening
would turn your symbols to paragraphs,
you (perhaps) would have sheared the tether
binding you to your self-sustaining bliss
and retract the curtain who kept the stage
from the intrusion of polished mirrors.
(perhaps) i would have been powerless,
whimpering unintelligibly and pausing in wait
in the blanking room; the oubliette,
for the phrases to trickle as nectar
down the walls into tightly cupped fists.
:: smw :: 08.06.03 :: 00.31
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