vrijdag 15 februari 2013

The bud, the blossom and the field

His name was abundance. He was called by a dream and never fully left those realms.
I said he had to hold my hand, otherwise I would fly away like a balloon. We picked up horses in the carpet and let them gallop over our arms, just to get closer. He told the children he came in a submarine and lived underwater. I could have believed him. I believed everything he said.
There were flowers at my door. There were flowers in my hair. They forgot they were just buds one day and blossomed without restraint. When we lay on the vast green grass ground I told him don't forget we are the whole field and when he kissed me I let him conquer my heart.
We swam in water that was lit by so much candlelight I could barely take it. I had never seen anything so vibrant, not even the chestnuts of his eyes. My seeds rained on him, his kept safely in the crook of an arm. The undoing of every color, red first, with all the power of the summer sun we burst out, in the dying light we bloomed, soft and malicious like a piece of ember. We deformated, moss grew in our feet, on our thigh, we lay in the lump of a belly, burned a black hole in an ancient tree, gathered dripping threads of thirst along our outstretched legs, my secret pierced through a canvas of skin, his invisible but sleeping in the hallow of a cheek.
Down we fell, drawing restraint. The wind arose. The skies folded, and full of shock waves we moved through the endless channel. I remember how I surfaced memories from a coral riff we never inhabited together. Dressed in cold, I traveled through the abyss. A flower rose, witnessing the downing, purifying in its reflection.
 I resurfaced and opened my eyes. I couldn't adjust to the light of emptiness. I saw an useless tangling and untangling of fathom-like lies, ridden of ground and meaning, and then, finally, we broke. His name changed, and seeds started to sprout.
We became the bud, the blossom and the field again.