smoke signals

i worry that my words smother

undermine

mask

forsake

what my body is trying to tell me.

i worry

that this is an excuse.

a means of avoiding discomfort;

this body is overwhelming.

i worry

that if i reach for you

you wont have anything to say

you wont hold my gaze

and i’ll just be standing, searching.

or that you will

an echo of a body; what’s in a name?

and see down

how do I call you?

right through to the bottom

corozonar:

creation is both the love and pain

of everything

i worry that if i reach for you

ill discover

you have already left

and i was never really here at all

that i’ve gone mad

dead
to whom do i belong?
(please claim me)

how is it possible
to yearn
to long

for a being;

an entity;

an embrace

that is neither you

nor not-you.

that is both always here

and not here

at once.

the unrelenting wail of crossing

aches

of that which cannot be spoken;

cannot be named

"that which does not need us, but makes us"

 the impenetrable womb

of the third space
what would she say?

“why do you mistrust?”
“is a smoking mirror still a gaze?”

can you not see how it rises

the repressed

fear of abandonment

self-hate

in the ether

carry the truths we are too afraid to face;

that the body betrays
remember what you are. where you came from. what conceived you.
water is your only name.