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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required “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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