No. 32 - Conjure on Arrival

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“It is lonesome, yes. For we are the last of the loud. Nevertheless, live. Conduct your blooming in the noise and whip of the whirlwind.”

― Gwendolyn Brooks, In the Mecca

Would that your poem conjure on arrival; would that your poem land hardly soft. Would that you tell this story. Would that you sing this song. 

That you are in search of a lover you lost. That since you could not reach him you decided to write her a poem. That you did need her, did need his attention on you. That you did miss her bold way with you. Would that you share that you did message back, remove her from the archive, where he had lay dormant. 

Would that you share that you did love her.  That you wanted to plant yourself in front of him, and wind and whine more than just a bit. Maybe have a baby or two. Would that you share that you think there is nothing wrong with that. Or, that you asked her, one eight years ago, would he mother my child, should you never have a child. 

Would that you share that you do not know how you lost track of him. That you know you were not fully in love with her, not quite smitten. That he only reaches out when she has lost his mind. That you wake up recounting your dreams of her. Whispering at the movies. Warming up to each other. Flying from ballrooms, bases and blues skies. Wandering streets. Walking for hours, in search of something to eat. 

That, at night, when you are home you wake, and your musings take you directly to his lips.  That you want to nibble and suck and play there and there. That you share that you want her your lover. To love you. Not like he loves you. Would that you share that she is a rainbow written across a moonlit sky. 

You want to know what she feels like in your mouth. Would that you share that you are in search of a lover you lost.  A boy whose eyes were deep wells in which you wanted to fall again and again. A girl who cradled your heart in her hands, and kissed your tears away. A boy who whispered as he cupped your breasts, how lovely and striking and fuckin cute he found you. Would that you share that you miss her fingers tickling, his lips licking, her bold way with you. That you want to press your body into his fold and lay with her once again. That you want to rest your lips against his skin and coat her in layers and layers of happiness. 

Would that you share that you hold his heart in your hand, that she holds your heart in her mouth. 

Would that you share that if she holds your heart in her mouth, and you hold his heart in your hand, who will first clench the heart, who will first bite down? Would that you share too much. Would that you share or have you already shared too much.