You keep me busy.

You keep me in small jobs to do.

I find myself back at the table, in wonder of you.

I find myself tripping over the same

Romantic tools.

They rest on the floor,

La Brocha, The Burner, so long out of use.

It comes to mind, the act. We have to make this good.

I reach for the lightswitch, surrounding us now in a chemical blue.

You whisper a secret, in curves and depressions, snd spikes.

You let me pick the colors.

You always smile, “I like what you like…”

And I thought you were lying,

Like I do every time.

But then you start moving.

There’s no doubt alive;

There is nothing on Earth with design

  Like we’ll find

Here tonight.

If you are the hidden sphere,

And I am the light, I will fail you.

I am too dim,

Too broad are the stretches of shadow that unroll along your back.

But you be the caster. I’ll be the mark. Correct my missteps and presumptions

From the source of their departure. Just make it right.

Please, don’t give more than you’re willing to lose, because we have to know for sure

If the process only works in one direction… There’s a balance. But you can’t be afraid. And I can’t rush you.

Even though I’m begging your body for answers, I won’t take them.

I will not remove my hand from your mouth, except to cover your eyes.

But I have to ask, do you recognize me, from this far outside my mind?

DarkChild, do you now see what it is to be alive?


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