Nostalgia: Hair and Bones and Hands and Teeth.

3/17/2008

A blue little boy watches you,
Wet eyes seeping from inside a windowless room.
i’m running out of air, he says,
The words and sounds pouring from his chest,
Slipping through his fingers,
You never wanted to hear me.

A rain cloud girl stumbles over a thick summer night,
Mourning Dove cries in her throat.
i know i should just leave you there with slipping words.
They tangle in my lungs,
Beat against my chest like the echo of thunder.

The dream looked like a memory,
A house built into the arms of oak trees,
Old mattresses on the floor where they would lay.
Water filled the room and she held her breath forever.
Lilies blossomed where there were once sentences,
Thick red petals for lips,
Kissing her neck,
Whispering their floral words.

The blue boy speaks in his sleep,
Calling names and answering questions she didn’t ask,
Breaking bones that never existed.
You can’t always be here, you know.
You’ll go away again like before, he tells her.
i can’t use those words on you.

Where is it, she asked without speaking.
Over there, he muttered with his eyes shut.

You know they will tear us apart like meat if we go out there,
Ripping the flesh from our skin, revealing our red wet insides.

But we can’t be here forever.
This room is too dark, i can’t see anymore,
i just begin to contradict myself when i speak,
i haven’t felt the sun for days.
And you don’t like to be so dependent, i know,
But there’s nothing here anymore.

If you knew, i would just stay longer.
If i knew, i wouldn’t still be here.
i can tell that your blue boy eyes are the stars,
And that my rain cloud words aren’t the sky.

But the dream was like a memory where she had clung to you in a house held by a tree,
Sitting on a mattress like wet sunsets,
Holding your shirt tight in her small hands,
Her face against your chest full of bones,
Your fingers running through her hair like sound,
Talking to her in your sleep through a perfect cage of teeth.