Anthon Beeke Alphabet Ed van der Elsken Photography

speech-less

Now with choice gone and chosen,
i cannot hear what's left to say
i cannot hear past my own words that
wait hunched within yours.
i would have you here;
hear my ineluctable heart as if no other moved you.
i would dream now, in and for you, a better ending
and lend my breath for its endlessness.

how though
how could i -
how can one swallow the promise of nourishment
while thickened with an emptiness in overflow?
you have ... no. not.
you have not. i have
no room left for anything else.
i am left, if i stay,
with my own ... left,
if i stay, with
my own absence...

uncommon vernacular
ovaled through the sound of
your velvet-cushion voice ~
i slip back, slide to settle through
tactile transcendance - here in my loose fist,
loosening now full; wide and wild
and endless ~ no end or side or length
no need for a window
where there are
no walls ~ sometimes alice doesn't land
~ in some versions, the story itself
is to fall in one's self.
that is All.

~ i'm supended
by whispers, upsloped through
stillness where my memorable amnesia
lives in the now ~ cast out by
my own shadow, my form conforms across
those shallow absences which
certain hours of sunday afternoons,
leave pocking across the heart's surface.

SWF SEEKING ...

lover's inventing each other's bodies; an alchemical flow of what's longed for from their palms. another's flesh - the caress itself inventing what it will touch. birds long for flight not because they've wings ~ the longing, first - then wings ... all is in answering. a common gesture; a reply never replicated - no two the same for language won't fulfill the inexhaustable silence of a distant wave. ...never say never... touch - even those accidental, apologetic brush-bumps with strangers; unlikely intimacy. a few nameless faces, i continue to recall and wonder - and what if ... where are they, do they remember and wonder, ...me? implicit familiarity of form, of voices and skin's scent. innately we ease through complexity ... my own, and theirs as mine now multiplied where numbers, mute and ignorant, retract and grow pale.