love of my life

The ancients didn’t imagine life as a straight line from birth to death. They imagined gateways. Points in the sky where spirit enters the world and where it leaves again.

 
baby, you are the love of my life, but I won't pretend that I've been doin' everything I can.

ancients were often associated bees with breath, spirit, and the unseen currents that animate life. 

and so in my sleepwalking, i call you: honey. Dreams of wax strawberry, memories in streets you used to kno, I wonder if hives were seen as substances that carried divine intelligence, beneath forgotten pleasures smolder.

daydreaming in your smile and your moles, powerful images of how consciousness moves between worlds: orderly, cyclical, communal, and eternal.

let go

How we felt in that moment, we made this. sometimes mi hands have a prettier shade of red. They robbed me and ripped my shorts. Giant sulfur, so that no one likes me, my trademark.

Across a bridge, my confidence expands, a fiery challenge beneath an insecure city. 

What did I lose, and what will I never find? 

It's Wednesday night, and when I get home, the news is to recover, cancel, and then, in the darkness of my bed, understand that I was lucky. 

I'm lying down, and only my fingers hurt, but they didn't steal anything important, not even my documents. 

Lucky again, staring silently at the ceiling at dawn.