may true love bless (and dress) your death – Elizabeth Victoria Aldrich

November 7, 2019

yeah, once upon a time, we were the world; you and i, fleshless, static, inviolable, anti-sentimental (my PIN was our anniversary, but wrong). you worked and you talked while i knelt and undid the knot between yr knees. those were the days, paisley crazy & always late. i was never in my body, at all; we never met eye to eye, no regrets for what was never even poorly understood. our misshapen syllables just grazed each other, like a wayward wind; coming from nothing to nothing via nothing, it was languid but it wasn’t sad, we nestled in the opiate of smalltalk, blameless and inoffensive; it was our way.

 

x

 

jump out the window because
you can just never be on the right side of the glass

 

 

x

fortunate an animal torpedo chose through the windless night, tearing it up into sad fragments of unfathomable and irreconcilable instances. we sheltered upright at the bottom of a well, lost well together, while the livelong storm raged on; beside us, dripping beneath us, water seeping behind us, air between us in a minor abundance. a poor solace & group heat a dead cuddle, my breath mingled with hers in this cramped nadir, overreaching helpless glad and i tasted Mind at work. her eyes in mine, mine in hers, sacred softness of a dominatrix. our heads together, foreheads against eachother, we whispered the most forbidden things, the most innocent things.
i must’ve witnessed it gestating at some point in the interminable malaise, and incorporated oblivious, yet another bulk memory. that ventured forth in dreams without setting.

i mean the underground network; the bewildering mutual attention. that kept her blood from curdling and exhorted my heart from arresting, that maintained our idle flesh at neutral temperature & cut our separation at an agreeable remove. a reasonable degree… at the foggy pitch of just nearing. a picture of life blindly complete at the bottom of a well, furnished without the earnest addition of a most ungrateful thought.

midnight struck and we were almost apart without having broached the imposition of a chilly pause that came without coming and went without having gone. but it had been noticed: this space cannot accommodate a rescue mission until we have grown smaller to meet it–together–over time we do not have. a bond consummated strict, inviolable; our uncomely panic died in that minute, the aftermath having caught up with our eventual breath…. the weight of our dread and judgment.

historical documentation of how we impressed this earth without making it ours.

this invisible behemoth of a modal possibility we shrunk from addressing, not a word between us, not a sound. just the frowzy mantle of night and the felt blanket of silence, falling on all, leaving us leaving us.

another day we said nothing, we died a lot in sparing company, but company however sparing is ever dying, lest it stay; either you speak your peace or wait until it is upon you, say what you will, and this is life. and it’s real, okay? А это реальная жизнь, понятно?