Remembering

We lay in oceans of memory, drunk to be sure, I am missing you and yet you are there beside me, always, delivered as I hear them tell. I hear you say to me this thing you have called the truth of me and in this see we can neither of us be wrong, me denying, you defining.

I will hurt you with my truth. I clean it like a gun. Call them lies if they are to you. What is this rapture with the other thing, a queer reflection, singular in that you are the only one who sees it, more real than my distant bones in that you are the only one who feels it, and yet, I am here.

I see your face in a flame.

“We start out broken” you say. There is no perennial memory, diverged, returned with alacrity and suffuse with evolved meaning, no longer sentence behind your word or my infamy. We eat our breakfast in the sun you and I, comet tails dancing, alone, always alone, seen like nothing else is seen and yes Michael, hated for it.

I dream of you today. Sequester the ash of this lie to me like some primeval hearth, its rumor of warmth no different than the name I call you with, falling where, on whom, who turns to say, to smile to show me all that love that has always been there, that I have known my whole life, to and from, taken, taken as surely as death has so much, still I pull it close as you watch a phantom you might know as the real me.

December is not today. I awake frozen in you, breathing only in what dreams I grow in weed fields of doubt and I breathe them like a vengeance, like a wound of love, like killing and being killed, like losing you again and forever, I say it aloud while walking away, “where are you”.