Matrimony

I have been taken on as your lover. I will not deny it any longer, taken into
a divine, subterranean refuge where my lungs separate with a sharp divide,
squeezed apart like play dough, and that is not all
that has been conquered or dismembered.
I trust this burning bond, but I am hardly keeping pace,
letting all other responsibilities go, paying no mind to the traffic
or to the baby squirrel at my doorstep. I have been tagged your concubine,
marked now with an irrefutable identification. I am not in this body anymore,
not like I used to be. I am flowing in and out of atmospheres, contained
by dark matter into the surge of these succulent prayers that claim the
wavelength of my individuality.
It has always been - you on top of me, me over your back,
finally both of us abandoned to the pressure,
moving in sync, blasting out a ferocious harmony.
And the crows, on treetops, never letting me out of their sight.
You and them and dark wingspans
cloaking the shell of my brain, causing an explosive beat,
a ricocheting rhapsody- always just you and me - together,
retreating from time, gesticulating our revelations,
gyrating on beds, on cushions - scarves loose around our necks,
force-feeding each other, promising this and that, and the sun.
In my eyes, your sun, your legs beside mine have become mine.
It has never been any different - I've been a fool to think it has - this
tugging on my lead. Love, so much love, our love, is sweet,
murderous. I am trying to understand but I don't know how.
Tell me, I am listening. Expand everything
then crush it in tight, blindingly bright,
pinpoint.

Allison Grayhurst

 

Archived 06/24/2012