nI was going to do a proper post tonight, but I'm afraid it would teeter from one emotional extreme to another and might become just a little nonsensical, a little too revealing, and might end up needing to be edited-the-hell-out-of in any case. I think I might need to process a few things first, maybe run them through my paper journal instead - sorry dear fans, but I do keep a slightly more private and *analogue* one of these. I love you all, but I'm just a little private about some details.n

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nInstead, I’m going to fulfil my previous post’s conclusions and put up some poetry. These are the first seven in a longform sequence that is underway; longform in that it’s a multiplicity, not that the poems themselves are long, they are more short vignettes. Anyway - enjoy, and feedback if you please.n

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nconversations with Youn

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n#1

nYou know, I wanted to talk nabout angels and angles and nverdigris summertime,

nbut you’re busy I guess and nI’m not the best at talking anyway.

nI’ll take my topic and just ncogitate soundless but guilt nmakes me hopeless yet tell of nhappiness, I hope.n

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n#2

nIt’s a letter from me: nstarts with Dear and nends with love I’m above nthe line but here’s a piece nof bluegrass; cup it in nyour hands, don’t stand but nbite the chill, nnow wake.n

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n#3

nThe pillow’s empty and flat nbut your impression’s still there nin dreamtime, nliquid chocolate glitters and ngleams over a smile of nendearment.

nI endure but I’m alone nand you’re not, it ndoesn’t hurt nbut it drags me to nthe floor, non carpet of lilac nI can taste perfumed nmemories; nthey aren’t true.n

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n#4

nMoonbeam catcher, you whisper, nfists close on tempted shadow; nI open my eyes & nstare at whitened glare.

nBreathe deep with fellowship, na squeezed shoulder’s a sign n& so’s a twinkling iris- nperhaps others notice what nwe haven’t.

nAbsent I’m fondness n& I convince myself it’s false nbut I close my eyes and you’re there; na mental polaroid nwithout me in frame.n

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n#5

nLipstick stains cream nhere’s a tissue, now nlet’s talk - no?

nIt’s a construct of self n& I think you’re listening nbut it’s just me; na game of one, ndoubles partner not found.

nI’d call but I’m afraid nI’d answer it, nreality creeping in nand helping me ndrown.n

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n#6

nI’m sure this time, nas you approach with nlapis-lazuli smiles, nclothed in powdered turquoise silk, nI was asleep.

nI don’t care, nas most compassion and affection nare everclear in sheen, nwhile eyelids flicker and flutter n& I smile back.

nWhen I wake you’ve gone ninto dreamscape nbut my lips curve upwards nas oxytocin flows down muscle nlike satin, nI’ve woken early nbut whole.n

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n#7

nIt’s not first sight nor nsecond third fourth nbut cumulation, n& when it hits it’s a ncannon to the soul of ndesperate-tinged shock.

nSometimes the trip heralds the fall, nbut I’ve been stumbling so long nI’m unsteady, n& there’s no pride to lose nor gain nor hope to draw down nwithout.n

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nPlease note, none of them are ‘final’, they are all ‘first pass’ or ‘second pass’ at best, but there’s a rawness to them that I’m sort of enjoying when I reread - enjoying, and despairing.n

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nAh, writing. My god, do I fucking love hate loathe respect despair enjoy it.n

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n-Andiya