After sundown, before sleeping, I am the worst of me. I am a mess of these
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Old themes and the murmur of half-dreams whisper seductively and
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Stage scenes.
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It's fear fiction, these visions, caught somewhere between delusion and
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Prophesy.
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What I haven't done, what I've wanted to, and what I fear you have
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Becomes reality here.
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Bright lights in the young night keep to the beat.
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A classic party scene, crowded and interesting.
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No love, no life, no history.
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Just touch, just chemistry, just
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A roaring undercurrent simple and sensory.
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Young bodies, warm skin, perfect symmetry and
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It's a moment, harmless. It's energy.
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It's like medicine,
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It's self-discovery.
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See, all the secrets I keep, why are they secrets?
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It's only temporary, that fleeting feeling of warmth,
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Just a flash before the line gets blurry,
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Between a longing for more than what the body wants now and
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What the body wants now more than anything.
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Was it integrity that kept my hands to myself or
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Just the thought of getting too far ahead of you?
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Was it that I got too tired of the consequence?
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Or was I just scared?
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I only know I never wanted to get left behind.
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No pauses, not a second guess.
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First a swaying then a stumble then a swagger.
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They're just movements towards feeling. It doesn't matter
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Neither hesitates to carry on a kind of energy,
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Sweat and block out everything to
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Find every aperture and compel the animal parts.
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Fan flames, taste fruit, taste bitter fruit.
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Just trying to learn how all the wires in the body work.
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Just trying to feel it out, it's like medicine.
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Trap the healing in whatever bed they end up in.
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I want to feel it out. I want to know how it works.
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I want to know if it was worth it to worry,
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About the ghosts I feared would haunt the memory,
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About the damage that I'm sure the fear has done to me now.
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I want to know what it is in me that won't follow through
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Those nights the instinct takes a hold of me and pushes too.
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Maybe it's only that I've never gotten over you.
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Or am I still scared?
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I see the church steps, a vision. Is there fiction in this one too?
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It's true, I've made a tale of it here, still, it's a little unclear who's
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Been haunting who.
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And time can be such a funny thing, always moving to the future
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Glorifying the past and amplifying the pain in frames and glass.
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So was our touch half as sacred as I've made it seem
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Or just another fabrication of a half-dream?
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Just those chemicals, the adolescent love.
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Just us trying to grasp onto meaning,
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Onto a purpose,
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Onto a sense that
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Something spiritual releases when the feeling hits.
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And when the feeling hits.
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And in that moment sparks and harps play out
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A sweeping melody through fog and fantasy
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And in that moment there's an honesty instinctive and pure but
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It departs like it came, rapid and bearing no more
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Than fleeting ecstasy of natural harmony.
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They fear the notes being played and try to sing along.
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Don't be ashamed, be free to the feeling. Don't be ashamed, keep feeling.
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But find it: a body that makes sense.
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I've felt it.
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-----------------
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The Most Beautiful Bitter Fruit
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| La Dispute |
