--OR
SEEING ANYTHING AS MUCH AS I DO YOU
Our Eternity
Here’s what happened.
We spent our eternity in bed, doing that, yeah, but also ripping up wishes
and IOU’s, reweaving tapestries and Gerry-rigging sonnets to make them sound
less stiff and ancient.
It was a blast.
You were best at happy endings, so I let you
steer those ships. Me, I spent hours
studying your tailbone, or else counting the gaps between your breaths, the
times you said, Pretty sure.
I was easily fascinated.
You called me Silly Goose and I called you Bug
and it went on like that for lengths.
At some point, you tattooed the word Happiness across every inch of my skin with
your tongue so that I was always tingly and rumbly, like an electric toothbrush
when it’s used without the bristles.
Our kindness was constantly copulating. It had scads and scads of children who sloshed
off the mattress and wrapped themselves around the ankles of over-burdened pedestrians
and deer nosing the yard for stray apples.
It was perfect that way.
The world found a better method of breathing. It expanded and changed colors, new species
of red and green, though none of it had anything to do with Christmas or any other
holiday.
In between doing that, as well as poetry readings, there was always a lot of soft-cone
kissing going on.
Eventually I fed you secrets because you convinced
me you craved their bitter flavor. Kinda tastes like espresso, you said, so
I pinched off your nose and plopped it in my mouth as if it was a spongy
jawbreaker, making you laugh in your hand and say, You really are a Silly Goose.
We never got older, or if we did, we didn’t
care.
Nothing
bad ever happened, or if it did, it didn’t happen to us.
Our story had no plot, no beginning or
end. It belonged to the universe, to the
stars which held us just so in their sparkly palms. It’s the same universe and those same stars that
everyone else is staring at right now, their breath caught, wondering what all
the ruckus is about, where all that light is coming from.
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