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“The Language of the Undone”

I prefer 
them 
over humans
those velvet souls 

loving 
the lesser 
parts of me 
always

more than anyone 
else cares to admit 
they inspect 
every inch of me 

walking over me 
territorily 
like Gulliver’s 
hirsute henchmen

those velvet suits 
wrap themselves 
like mink 
around my neck

gleefully 
indulgent 
purring into me 
like 

I am 

their only Sun 
and every morning 
we wake, to become 
this existence all over again,

together, we wake alive
bedraggled, strange 
and content company, 
to face this life face on

they unravel 
like cashmere 
balls soft pawed 
over and around me 

needing me, 
like I am soft 
like I am not hard
like I am soft 

as bread dough 
I joyfully exist 
in these very simple 
linear moments

feed me love 
they purr, and
the great I am
comes undone 

not expecting  
such devotion 
such unconditional 
Love, and

Love, 
I come fast undone
a different kind
of creature, no god 

a mere nothing 
of an undistinguished
unheard of 
excruciatingly complacent 

woman

I live and breathe 
the language -
of the poetic 
undone,

imperfect
in all ways
each and every 
night and day

perfectly 
the great I am 
comes undone, 
Love

watching 
this strange
unrehearsed
small boxed-in life 

like origami unfold 

warm inside
forming a barrier 
between me 
and what little remains

the rain 
crying down 
windowpanes, the outside
like sharp Winter lemonade

the heart inside melting like ice

the external world 
hits the glass
reminding me
forensically  

it’s not the same 
I will never be the same
no, I am not the same
the mind remembers too much

the fertile mind 
and its eloquent 
reminders remain
in its presentation box 

stoic self-contained 

the rain pulls the trigger
the window pane slamming
like a forcefield unshattered
reminds me it’s like life 

barriers and boundaries 

there's an aloof integrity
in the distance we create
walls and their words
competitive 

bad alliances 
misjudged judgements
trust betrayal
silence

small moments of graffitti
hit the pain like rain
the hand fingerprints
its curlicue cold refrain

still, here we are
tracing hearts 
on an ice cold
foggy window

warm inside, hope
somehow still sits 
in a corner somewhere
with its twin the other side unseen

drawing demarcation lines
a barrier 
between me and you, 
you and I

and what remains;

velvet suits 
wrap themselves 
like mink 
around my neck

gleefully 
indulgent 
purring into me 
like ...

I am 

Love

without you,
not so lonely 
but missing something 
very much entirely

no need for names 
we are known 
to each the other, 
for you and I

are Forever

consanguine
the same,
you are loved
and I am,  

Love,

like you
are Love,
like it or not,
the same,

Love

Forever 




Candide Diderot. '24 
gvlm
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