what I can remember

[artolmaeus]

I have forgotten, the faces, the bodies, but remember the urgency of moments

then again, I still the eyes, what I connected to, more than feeling

what was behind the curtain, when it was unfurled, every smell, yes, all

how it felt, how I felt, being in this body, more than what was touching me

what was touching me on the inside, I can remember something alive

that was always there, but asleep, and it is that incredible thing, I chase

that light coming out of  an unknown area, nothing in the biology books

not drawn in any anatomy work or study, but, it illuminated every one

up to the tops of my bones, into my skin, and I know I glowed,

no one was blinded, but, the light is unmistakeable, not as rare as said though

if it was just hope, no, it had more energy, maybe hope realized

for a moment, not what was without me was alone, but that within

was connected to all that which I feel is the cargo ship of me,

and those eyes saw it, no, I did not, not then, for the animal would have its way

but now, I forgot what the animal did, but I remember what I saw in those eyes

and oddly it was both me and them, for this connection thing is a difference

when need and want, more vulnerable, gives way past longing

or fulfillment, and there is something of a innocence in the midst of pretense

and the mere allowance of some union, when, it was so much more

there were no windows, there was no shade, as a child of the sun that shines

it was that shine within, though we romance the darkness, and the melancholy

maybe because, we don't stay too long there, what, for fear of madness

or that somehow madness may be better, and in the physical protest of endings

in some refractory reverie, the light goes all center in the chest, warm right there

untouchable but remaining, until all parties leave the scene,

and like a fireworks show at the last light of the grand finale,

there is nothing left for the spark that this illumination offered, to just flicker

like a soft candle in the night when, the walls take some dance from the flame

getting its kisses from some draft where ever it may have come from

like waves washing over ever comb of my skin, if I remain breathless for one more count

I will hear that music that carries me, beyond myself, like a vagabond on the starlit skies

wandering into the mystery of being when we just don't have anything else possible to do

but feel, and remember how close we were to knowing what that was

before it runs into oblivion, teasing somehow, that we should follow

never to an end but ever to a continuance we don't allow ourselves to believe

because it is not something we can own, or possess, but are still, free to have

and we, too often, are more about the propriety of all things, than the thing itself

oh if I truly love, how I have no goddamned defense for all the whys it would be

unless it is somehow, reminded of me, in the eyes of one and any other...