substitute soul
The workings of the world are witnessed in small portions, in tiny stirrings and dreamy asides. The way steam rises from the surface of hot coffee, the exaggerations matter maintains in our slip of perception. Phase changes and transitory states, particles leaping orbits, all the resonant frequencies that make existence exist. I set my jaw and feel the insistence of my teeth, even in rest only manifest as bite. I sip my coffee, hoping that that restless alkaloid magic will be substitute enough for a soul.
It is the flavor of time, slowly dissolving, rippling through perception in measured directions, memory and invention manifest in every taste. Notions of yesterday feed hopes for tomorrow, moments blending, breathed in and exhaled, sustaining this fragile invention. Dust motes dance in the heat updraft of a glowering lamp, the bitter and the sweet mingling on the tailings of my breath. Forgotten constellations and wrong numbers, all the favored glistenings of bared skin. Today falls backwards, plunging into the past. Tomorrow burns beyond the horizon, full of the unlikely possible.
Time slows kindly as I undo your buttons, time pauses politely as I stare and stare. The mission of my hands, the mandate of your flesh. All these drizzled kisses, all these love letters tattooed in touch and sweat. You read your fortune on the ceiling. I tell my fortune on the curve of your hip. These weary festivals, this threadbare carnival, the scent of emotions and the tangle of buffeted sheets. Just a thought, staring into the distance. A blasphemous prayer to blood and bones; another tomorrow that will never come.
The workings of the world are witnessed in small portions, in tiny stirrings and dreamy asides. The way steam rises from the surface of hot coffee, the exaggerations matter maintains in our slip of perception. Phase changes and transitory states, particles leaping orbits, all the resonant frequencies that make existence exist. I set my jaw and feel the insistence of my teeth, even in rest only manifest as bite. I sip my coffee, hoping that that restless alkaloid magic will be substitute enough for a soul.
It is the flavor of time, slowly dissolving, rippling through perception in measured directions, memory and invention manifest in every taste. Notions of yesterday feed hopes for tomorrow, moments blending, breathed in and exhaled, sustaining this fragile invention. Dust motes dance in the heat updraft of a glowering lamp, the bitter and the sweet mingling on the tailings of my breath. Forgotten constellations and wrong numbers, all the favored glistenings of bared skin. Today falls backwards, plunging into the past. Tomorrow burns beyond the horizon, full of the unlikely possible.
Time slows kindly as I undo your buttons, time pauses politely as I stare and stare. The mission of my hands, the mandate of your flesh. All these drizzled kisses, all these love letters tattooed in touch and sweat. You read your fortune on the ceiling. I tell my fortune on the curve of your hip. These weary festivals, this threadbare carnival, the scent of emotions and the tangle of buffeted sheets. Just a thought, staring into the distance. A blasphemous prayer to blood and bones; another tomorrow that will never come.
scrapi:
You are incredibly eloquent and a beautiful writer.
reypulque:
Thank you.
