Rocks I Don't Remember

I ask Chrisoula what is the Greek word for blowjob and she replies, "Tha fáo to fídi kai to fídi tha pethánei," which roughly translates to "I will eat the snake and the snake will die."  

Finally able to run outside again. River water sluicing hard near rocks I don't remember, probably carried downriver by late spring torrents. Two redheads changed my life, both used the word "melt" in their spells, I barely survived, truly. It turns out you aren't obligated to attend every ritual. 

Distressed confessions.

In my heart it is almost always Good Friday.

When you don't know how to love, you write sonnets.

In the morning the hemlocks point to where the sun rises, river flowing fast below the mist. This forgotten song, this metaphor I have finally had my fill of.

Thank Christ literally.

There is more between us than the heavens, she wrote. We look back, we reclaim a vital simplicity. We who understand the language of the sword.

Misapplications. What wordiness in the end are we allowed?

Melodies just before dawn - the stillness, the crows, the eighteen-wheelers on Route Nine, the river fading, the juncos waking up.

Et cetera is not for nothing. Suddenly seeing him drift away as if never to return and I realize I miss him, no matter how damned it makes me.

Om shanti shanti shanti, hallelujah, amen.