A Pretty Crazy Little Vignette
Loved one, it is time to begin communication. To begin, I loved you the moment you stepped from behind the hope hidden within me, not one thing or person, but everything. Gardens themselves have spoken to me.
Would you sit beside me? Do you feel me when I visit in my sleep or the morning sun rising? Help mate, help us reconcile. I love like the lion, Babylon and a madman who can provide and do all. “Can you do it?” I asked her.
“I am to retreat to a world that wants me without you,” was all that she could reply.
The loved image, forget her. I sit between the once walls of Eden and the gate that Satan slipped over. I give my body up to patience. I have tried to forget the heart felt need that keeps wanting her to be here. My Genevieve, woman of the earth, let me wait for you lonely like Adam, asking for goodness to help him. God take my rib, it is ready. Split my side in my sleep and give it to her to eat. Bring her wisdom.
Everything must be done in this time backwards.
“Patience my friend, bodies are not ready for the steeling of ribs. Just sit, forget need, and write your love letters. Swim in the ocean, and speak to the people you meet on the streets. This does not need even Eve. Adam has had her already, and given her up in a wailing and beating of breasts.”
“Genevieve I can still see you.”
The colour of our sun is a purple blue hue that washes my vision. Ink from some gland that gives love. I feel how it calms. Reminding of this beach, of her smile. Brown smiling. In every pore brown pouring into her from the earth, being more than reflected she smiles.
“I see the glow you have, with your brown toes, against the grained sand, again the same sand I now kiss.”
In the photos there was a line of people, brides maid’s gowns, men dressed in tuxedos. Though I saw only her, Genevieve, her leg, the hem of the dress hitched up over one knee. From the smile in her eyes I remembered each pulse of that evening.
She was my Dorigen.
“This is the process where the soul throbs and palpitates,” I said as I rose early the next morning. “I am suffering with the growth of love’s wings. It is feverish and itches. A two minded sensation. I am perplexed and maddened.”
My fiance and I returned from the wedding, went straight into our hotel room. I slept on the floor. Fever had hit, sweating and high. High from a beach night’s dancing and madness. I picked up Plato and threw him at the wall, above her sleeping head.
“Let no one disturb and frighten you by saying that the reasonable friend should be preferred to him who is in a frenzy,” I screamed down to my sleeping innocent, with all the silence I could find, hopelessness trying to pierce her heart quietly. “Love is not sent from heaven for the advantage of the lover and the beloved alike. We must prove that such madness is divine and given for our greatest happiness.”
I picked up the torn copy of the Symposium and quietly whispered, “ I understand. I am going to leave you, you know that don’t you?” She did not even move, was still asleep. Guilt tore across my heart. How could I leave? My heart sank past the pit of my guts, and picking it up, after minutes of quietly watching, I finally climbed into her bed. Closing my eyes, a kind of reverie followed far different to hope, though not a pinch like regret. Far different from hope and regret.
Genevieve was beside me, looking out over the ocean. Though her hair was blond, not auburn, and her eyes now blue, the colour of the sky over the ocean.
“Look at this place we have found ourselves in, it seems familiar. Do you feel it?”
“Like you do.” She whispered, quite close to my ear.
“Then trust it. Let the air in your lungs warm the sun if our love is now gone.”
Turning to me, the transformed woman, more memory than apparition, took my hands and spoke directly into my eyes. “You seem like something without even heaven.”
Particles from the sky floated down over our heads. Soft ions and water filled molecules landed on my shoulders, her hair. Some passed on through us, settling on the grass, or moved into the earth.
“We stand, I beside you, beside me our hands touching.”
“As if some god demanded it long before the day turned long, and the morning woke us with its smile.”
When a young man was given over with love he secured his lady with a lust for best deeds in many an enterprise and quest, and suffered at love’s bequest else she was won. She was among the loveliest given for the sun to shine upon, and came from so high a kind that he scarce the temerity mind to tell her of his longing and distress. But in the end she saw his worthiness.
From the bridal table there was definite depth in the way she looked at me. I knew that, for it was perceptible from that place where necks grind, from where the air flows open to when I felt her. And eyes, as she stood before me in the shadow of a goddess. Her my Odysseus, telling me that I loved right, that she was loving already. I let her hand warn me of her feelings. Not so much a warning, than an understanding of where future earth lies.
This feeling is consciousness and awake now. Last evening lust is behind me and life’s meaning is growing. I give up to the image for the heightened happens. The selection, the movement of neck granite bolder over sand in the pit and the air that seeps up to my heart.
Look. This day I live. All night each train of thought was for her around turning. We danced and spoke of love in our action. Language need not when our bodies continue.
I love the wanton girl this morning more than ever. It is relaxation now, a feeling of not wanting to leave her. However I look I must love, must give all that is inside me. Yet for some reason I was convinced I would return engaged from the wedding. I do not know what it is I’ve become. Following love like a Romeo in training I have decided to move. After drinking her lipstick a red pink to my vision did not leave my liver for years. So imagine my joy when new love smote the glow with a nautical blue. Cross legged in my lounge room thinking of you, knowing that living (not waiting), will be enough.