litote_convoluted: art: whether you rewrite your nightmares or always recommend a [a] dangerous sleep.
Whether you Rewrite Your Nightmares or always recommend A [a] Dangerous Sleep
I.
He sat casually in the chair in front of the desk and crossed his legs.
I’ve read somewhere that
the direction in which a
person crosses his/her
legs indicates where his
/her attention
is focused.
He sat casually in the chair in front of the desk and crossed his legs away
from me.
And his legs were
crossed completely, in
a way most
unfashionably
feminine.
I frowned as casually as possible.
II.
I have found stars in unlikely places.
“Being inside you is like fucking God,”
he said.
“The universe and everything in it is
God, hiding from
Himself.”
His glasses were digging into my shoulder.
“Thou…”
[thrust.]
“art…”
[thrust.]
“God.”
And he beat the Hell out of me.
We were mechanic.
I grimaced and turned my head.
I was released as he released.
III.
Mirrors-
(i am reminded of Sylvia Plath)
-he Hates my poetry because
he is forced to look at
Himself.
While I revel in self-reflection,
he
is stoic.
There is a pain in me which
he will Never understand.
There is a love in him which
i will never feel.