Forest Hill

We stare at the moon 

staring back at us;

You say my flesh is torn from celestial

breath.

I say your bones were made in the 

furnace of Ancient Greece so long ago

Fashioned fiercely and made from slab.

Michaelangelo.

Our tongue twisters survive the night

and I only win because I was created before you -- 

Weary of the old world order

and thrown from the skies at such a tender 

age.

When the new moon comes

I will appear bright and compact 

on your doorstep

Made to outlast you, to conquer you;

made to finish you.

We promise not to fall into mortals' patterns

not because we are godlike but because we are 

artists.

When two creators fall in love,

there are no survivors in the end.

I claim you and you claim me-- 

eating each other up

into the hurt fresh cold morning.

You delicately witness me

and we walk into the ocean

limbs free and moving with the music

that is absent

and with its absence it beats against my cheek

my heart

my ribs

so loudly.

I experience your earth like a wade pool

Here we lie

here we stroke

here we speak into one another

with the fierce conviction of truth and at dusk

we wake up having never gone to sleep.

Mute and curious, 

we search for ourselves in the 

other

two aliens uncreated but beating loudly

into existence

like a still heartbeat waiting to 

pulse. 

You make me the way you make movies - 

calmly.

I fashion you the way I write - 

from my own existence.

I walk away from us having

contributed nothing but silence

in which you have the space to be. 

And this isn't love. This is life to us, this is what I've been waiting for in a land so foreign, in a water that won't move with me inside it. The earth - a still globe against which we traverse into the next time period. So still, so young, so silent and weary. I stretch my limbs on the sand that, with its softness, fashions my shadows so real. I stand up tall and walk away quietly into the woods and wait by the clearing for you to wake. I wait and wait and by the time you don't come, I've already started again.

Another moon, another echo from the celestial familiarity from which I sprung so daintily into the mortals' world. I don't understand nostalgia because I am always creating new worlds, burning old feelings and finding my next heartbeat in a new you.

When you reach out to me, mornings mornings mornings valleys away from today, I don't exist.

I have a heartbeat. 

I am new. 

I exist. 

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