Caught between two planes of existence, slumbers promise a far of lie, lost within the realms of my dreams all fingers, eyes, smiles and presence, held captive within your essence as spectres draw me from my sleep fingers cold dragging, pulling gasping as touch becomes real and I am awake, in the darkness of eternity, caught between the two planes of existence, again and again and again you are there, waiting for me to dream…. again and again and again they are there waiting to pull me from my love.
They’re Catholic, does that matter? I say it like it does, like the cross in their window bears their souls, but where was God when she fell? Some people spill love from their pores in caring smiles and mindful nods. Her twinkle near most left that day, and for a moment I saw doubt in his eyes. He looks like St Nicholas, smiles like an old pirate and looks at his wife as though he has found the grail, I suspect he has. I suspect unbeknown to him, them, all of us, he has found that which is more holy, more powerful and more beautiful than any other earthly matter. Their love is different. The passion comes in his early morning jolts to the allotment, the way he stops at the corner looks back and waves like a mad man drowning at sea, anything to see that twinkle in his gals eye. She aged, over night, but her beauty never faded and her belief never drained. She smiles now with those sparkly blue eyes lined with tears as she hobbles past on his arm, the broken hip a memory of the past that remains in her gait, him in cut of shorts, a baggy office shirt buttoned up high and white spangly legs… They’re catholic, devout, they go to my church that I pretend to forget to attend and as I sit beneath the muted blues of an evening sky and watch him wander by I wonder. They’re Catholic. Does it matter?
I envy them, him, their love has a pureness seen only in the final pages of old dusty fairytale books, each kiss I believe renders them immortal, spells dispersed and magic created in the enchanted presence of such a love as theirs. Such a simple existence, a moments kiss and passion fills their auras spilling outward, exploding into the melancholy day and yet, a kiss filled with so much desire and not an iota of indecency, as though they are God’s angels, as though their love is blessed by the heavens and coveted in white feathers. They speak with their eyes, knowing glances that say, ‘ill be back soon my love, but in these seconds without you, know only this, I exist for you, for you.’ I envy them, him, her, I envy them.
This is an observational poem on a couple I see almost daily, in the latter part of their lives now they still love each other with a pure depth, she stands at the gate waving till he’s at the end of the road, where he gives her one last wave before he turns the corner… It’s a beautiful thing to watch.
I wonder does the soul feel space do we sense miles peppered by oceans and feel the entanglement of constellations. Does the earth’s axis polarize magnetism splitting the vibrational field? Rhetorically science is not the answer I search for…
Walk now in these barren lands stripped bare by ferocious storms the decrepit echo of arid voices tearing strips of flesh from the bone and I am empty, just bones and mortar my body, the remaining art of your touch, starved of life, starved of light death by torture life in the silent hues of hate.