memories of long words and longer sentences
bruises and drops of ink
you paint us in pain
baroque images
while the night washes us in old light
I remember you
slow from eons and light-years of yesterdays
while I am comfortably nestled in my blankets
I think of you drawing me out
drawing me
bending me over my kitchen counter and making me cry
while we are warm and safe I think of that moment
of stillness
right after being hit
painted with a stroke of a cane
the bottom of that moment is stillness.
empty but for perfect
when you touch me softly
it is with an incandescent light
milky
like blood lit through skin
.
