Love and life ... oh

I sigh a tear of pain and love seeps through my pores. I sigh a sigh so strong and salty, clear, true, heavy, and wet; I sigh a tear. A tear so beautiful. A tear so pure. I sigh and sigh and sigh. And sigh ...

* * *

Eating yoghurt...
Then I am aware of the spoon.
I see my face upside down, stretched, elongated.
Moving it in my graceful grasp, light bounces off it, streaks across it, and jumps off the tip.
The hollow reflects a world behind a dark grey screen, the colours and shapes distorted.
I sit there bending the world out and further out of reality and suddenly I don’t feel so grounded.

* * *

Still life: She leads a lonely, translucent life, the glass does. She stands tall, she is tall, she fears only being dropped, shattering. She knows everyone’s hands, she feels the thumbs like salamander suckers, and she sees the patterns of fingerprints. She judges the consistency of lipstick, lip-gloss, Chap Stick, detests the cruel scraping of chapped lips, or sick, slimy lips. She sings when caressed over her rim, she tinkles with cheer, she frosts with ice, and sweats in the heat. She leads a still life. She is a still life. When I drink from her, I wish I could make her live. Make her move. So cold, so warm, so unpersonified. Still life. Harsh life. No life. Good life. Life. Are we even to judge it? Life. Does it deserve a description? Life. Life. File. Live. Live life. Life golden and don't live glass. Don't live like a glass. But can we choose to live life any particular way? What we do means nothing. I can't believe that. We might as well be glasses, unable to choose what we are filled with. We do not choose exposure. We cannot beat being vulnerable. We are filled with what we will be filled with and not what we fill ourselves with. Who pours the milk here? We are never able to lift the jug. So naive. So child-like. So pathetic. But we choose anyway. And we aren't embarassed. In fact, we don't even think about it. That's life. What it is to us. What is always was. That it can't be changed. A truth. I think. For now. A temporary truth. If ever there was such a thing it was now. Was now. is now. Can never be now. Because now's gone and here and gone and over there. And we can't ever think about life because it's one layer of liquid below us always forever. One layer of liquid that we never chose.

* * *

It’s heavier than I expected,
Dusty and scratched,
Faint engravings encircle the bronze base,
The handle is dull and the sides shiny from many hands,
Many wishes.
I pause just once more and then rub, circling my hand over its swollen stomach.
A purple mist drifts out of the mouth and I close my eyes tight.
I clench the handle.
And staring at the lid, its jewels seem to glow.
Opportunity.
I wish for opportunity.
I understand the risk.
It could come and go,
A tragedy could result from a wish.
But I’m determined.
I will see it.
I have to.
For this is not a world that I would choose to command so easily.

This is a world I would choose to accept.

This is a world in which I would choose to love.