13 April 2009

if i could, i would open up your head, slicing with delicate and extreme care the outer limits of your flesh into the warmed bone that lies slumbering beneath. upon seeing your brain, i would reflect, genuflect for it sits sacred on its altar.

if i could, i would lean forward and with delicate and extreme care i would brush my lips on the very center of your cognition. ever so slightly i would kiss the part where right meets left.

if i could, i would watch with delicate and extreme care what effect this had on the circuits. im not sure i would want to know, but i think i would, for honestys sake. as your upper incarnates sit overturned on the table beside us like a soup bowl begging for sustenance, i will take you by the shoulders with delicate and extreme care and look straight into your cerulean quicksand eyes.

upon meeting your gaze, with one quick sweeping motion i will yank open my own skull and, leaning over you ever so delicately and ever so carefully, i will pour everything that exists inside of me into you. and for those seconds as that murky viscose liquid transposes from me to you i will probably feel like we are one. (and i am sorry if, with delicate and extreme care, i nod my head as if to say 'i understand' as i shake out each drop).

awake, taking your hands in mine as the last drops disperse, i fall, vacant and empty into your lap. a hollow sound resonates in my ears, deafening like the silence under water, absent of calm. i muster energy to turn over, in attempts to get one last look at your face. you free your hands of mine and reach over to the table, unscathed. and with delicate and extreme care you lift your skull and your flesh back up to its altar. i realize your eyes have not moved from their gaze on the wall and i can think no more. everything has been surrendered to you. i try to reach up to touch your face one last time. you look down, i fall, into the quicksand.

// erin mulvehill
(ive started writing again)