SOC Writing _ 27.5.21

The edge of things

Grows slowly together and apart – apart from the beginning the world turning edge has come upon the bigger mill that grinds us all the dust – the great turning of me – over in bed to face you – to embrace you – to then lean into myself again and ask: what is this? Who am I? What am I becoming? The sea is my solace – the cold water – my arms moving before me – feel all the skin brisk and taut – the current moving me faster than I thought. Arrive at the stainless steel stair well far before I imagine – a shag low over head – she the moon nowhere to be seen after her bloody covering in the sky last night – we pulling in ritual space – we did this together – and now in the morning pulled from embrace – covers back – need space to find – what? What exactly is transpiring here? Want to name it – give it simple terms of reference – on – off - together – apart - but this belies the simple truth that we cannot show the myriad of worlds colliding and burning beneath the surface and the stars have read us – all night they watched us – saw our dreams and we, the unknowing look at them with such wonder because - because they know us far better than we think we know ourselves – rewrite the script – let go into the dark – these omens of light and dark do something to guide us on our merry or not so merry way. You look at me like I’m a threat – my story – but oh this feels hard – to feel hard – hearted – enough of the openness - then a closing - we are like our hearts – contracting and expanding – pulling through the force that sustains us – nourishes us – and re-circulating the love that we have for the world. I am strong, and I am weak – I am everything to you and nothing. Hands simple upon the keys – the chords are of a church variety – sombre and waiting – lots of space to say something from the heart and just to moan the notes to each other as we go down with our ship amongst the many into the murky deep – once lost, twice found, my body still next to yours.