Long Form Thought

By | 1 December 2013

You are the inside out left hand glove
I slip onto my right hand in morning
too dim to tell what I’m doing. You do
the job. My whole body is one giant
fracture as I force it to walk on one
foot then the next in a well worn path
to the centre of our small universe.
You created me a library of leaves to
crunch through in afternoons spent on
trying to time travel without the more
conventional use of science. Science
is to be used sparingly like cocaine
or cayenne. As the rain works itself
through the little stitch holes in my
raincoat I imagine I am the water
and my body is your memory of ice
melting in your mouth after you
crunched it to pieces with teeth.
When the air is blood temperature
you unzip me and hand out my
calm disposition to children clam
-ouring in the street. We run round
together and fall down flat at the
end of the song. In this way we are
respecting the parts of our heritage
that are the same and allowing space
for your skin and my gender to fall
apart on an as needed basis. This is
the more common romantic avalanche.

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