The Old Lady and Lola and the people that couldn’t kiss
sat around a poker table in heaven sipping wine reminiscing. Thinking of simple
things that they missed, wished they could have, still betting that they would
have – without living life.
This is the edge of the world; they look out singing the Song of Solomon from the Bible days – that once brought light smiles to children’s faces. This is when the gates opened and the flood the rush of water and blood came gushing from the mountain from inside its build, the many torrents filled the sea making it churn and curdle, this is the hallowed deep sea that bares fruit to the great ones. It fills our stomachs with fresh fish slithering vocal and gorgeous that sats us in our dire need of sustenance. They play and dance.
I sit on the edge of the world on a bar stool watching
waiting, pondering the moments of madness that overtake us, make us quiver and
become insecure. I see them pass through the doors, the gates, flood the
streets, yes flood them with people, they – all have stories, simple true,
disheartening. Moments fill them, these simple moments; that have made us, like
a jigsaw puzzle in heat questing for the imperfect match, for the waters have
warped the board game.
It is simple, this passing, It’s orange actually, the
wind is saffron, yes this color. So is the sea. The one that matches the sun
and the flowers, that passes impermanence, with changing light and flickering
motion. Again, again I stand at the passing of a moment; it flies by trying to
go unnoticed. The moments relinquished not caught by the passer, the ones that
are let go and never caught, those are the ones that make the man.
This has meaning. Its what I see; It’s the light and sound of life. The fluttering the hushing the swaying, yawning, breathing – in and out – the heart pumping, it’s salivating the tongue as it senses the salt filled air salt and honeysuckle, peach and mango, sweets sweets and people. I wonder as I kiss you deep in your mouth and taste your lunch. I am deep in you and I’m lost. Lost in my own fabrications and desires.
They stand in front of the many winged and headed angle, at the white gates of heaven, judged on how much they loved.
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