Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon you head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby.
Many years ago, people used to cook over an open flame using copper kettles and iron pots. The copper kettles were usually polished after every use whereas the iron pots were not and remained blackened from the soot from previous cookings. Well someone got the idea that if the iron pot were alive and it looked at a nearby copper kettle, it would see a black image. The iron pot believes it sees the image of the copper kettle when in reality, because the copper kettle was polished, what the iron pot was seeing was a reflection of itself. This symbolic phrase became associated with hypocrisy. An accuser blames someone else for having a fault when the accuser has the same fault.
If her dreams of romance were diamonds, she could make Tiffany’s window look like a dark cellar at midnight.
I feel like I’m living the life of a Soap actress, without the money
Pinhole Negative, Cyanotype
I alone am the curse of my own heart break
I am guilty of twisting and turning, contorting my heart
The cause of my own fragility and vulnerability
The cause of so much pain. The cause of broken hope
Investing time, energy & love on insincerity. As it stands before me, unhidden
I alone am guilty of being taken advantage of
Guilty of believing in honesty, directness, openness, guilty of being over caring
I wade and drown in my ideas of him
I forget to breathe when I think of his breath against my neck
I close my eyes & loose my balance when I think of his body pressed against mine
I believe I could live off of his heat and energy as nourishment…
I would like to watch you sleeping, which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
sleeping. I would like to sleep
with you, to enter
your sleep as its smooth dark wave slides over my head
and walk with you through that lucent wavering forest of blue-green leaves with its watery sun & three moons towards the cave where you must descend,
towards your worst fear
I would like to give you the silver branch, the small white flower, the one word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center. I would like to follow you up the long stairway
again & become
the boat that would row you back carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and you enter
it as easily as breathing in
I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed & that necessary.