Sublimation (on the works)

Photo by Laura Makabresku

Sometimes I feel as weightless as the wind or as transient as how foam on the waves floats. There are days which are as void as the passions that have eluded me, or days of overtly, caffeine –induced mania. There are days of solitude and days of glory ------- days of faith and days of tyranny.

Then, there are days where I lose myself, and days I find you.

And I see you, lying on the bed: cream sheets and crimson lace; naked, but a trouser up your leg. I, wrapped around your arms; my head against your chest, listening to its steady “thump, thump, thump”.

“But they pulled me out of the sack,” you read.

“And they stuck me together with glue.

And then I knew what to do.

I made a model of you.”

Your words, breaking the quiescent -------- your voice, a melody of the tongue.

Your lips, parted with every syllable -------- your breath, a soft aroma to the gods.

You trace my skin and sketched constellations therein. “This is how I love you,” you said. “The stars and all their heavenly bodies, I seek no more. I paint them all on you.” And I was glad. If this was not pure bliss, I don’t know what is.

[The first attempt at the various types of defense mechanisms]