Thursday, April 2, 2009

Further West.

We faced the ocean.
“Should we run?” I asked.
And so he followed me, into the questions.
We could have quarantined the contradiction.
Instead, we swam inside.
I was Floating. Waiting. Trusting.
He was Sinking in his echo:

“Don’t get too attached.”

His waves came up and shrank back.
Promise and retreat.
Belief and indecision.
But never

Up, shrink back.
Up, shrink back.

“You can’t pick and choose what you go slow with.”

Up, shrink back.

I rode a wave into shore and then,
Then it was his idea:

There they were on the edge of the water, our drip castles in the sand.

They were his idea.

He was hoping to fall asleep in the transition and wake up with the answer.
But his sun never entitled him to conviction,
And with the morning, came only a plea for more time.
(One for me, and one for her.)
A neutral party in his own war.

But I loved building that sand castle,

I loved building that sandcastle, despite the coming wave.

My ignorance was washed away.
So was he.
For while he never spoke an answer,
there was a day
when I stopped waiting.

It was his idea.

I remain unapologetic for my intensity.
“Should we run?”

Up, shrink back.

Up, shrink back.

Promise & retreat.

And love said “CAN’T YOU HEAR ME?”

But he was drowning in his echo.

1 comment:

PleaseRememberMeFondly said...

I absolutely love this. I feel like I started breathing to it's rhythm and that was ridiculously soothing. I just love you. And this. And your rhythm. Rock your rhyme.