Things I Refuse to Tell YouThings I Refuse to Tell You
i would never say this.
my pride and my fear of burial
underneath old sands and dried up seas
will keep me from speaking of such pure emotion.
i want to hold your hand
to see if it fits as well as i'd like it to.
i want to lie in your arms
in the dark
so i can feel
if there's something beautiful
hidden in your smell
or hidden in the way
you would keep me there.
i want to hear your heart beating
through all the blood and the skin
and the weight of atoms
keeping the deepest things
i want to be thrown
into a new age of discovery:
a new world of foreign animals;
a new universe of galaxies to explore.
i want to belong again,
and i want to own again.
i want my insides to melt
when the fragile skins of our lips
just barely touch
for the first time.
there's excitement in the air,
and i can taste it
like the perfect imperfection
of salt water.
it's the thrill of wanting
to touch something so close,
he's not a work of art, you know.
you'll never be able to keep him
like you keep your charcoal pencils
and your canvas and your pens.
he's not as tame as you'd like him.
he won't stand for you too long.
he's a horse, that one: wild.
so take some photos while you can.
he's not an item to be purchased,
and he's no furniture in your room.
he'll grow more legs and RUN
from lips and chains kissing his feet.
he's not a tapestry for you to display
so don't try to fit him in a frame.
that beauty, his, can't be harnessed.
truth will always be muffled, concealed.
he's not really YOURS, you know.
you're just borrowing him for a while.
tasting a drop of everything he is:
sipping at serenity - choking on chaos.