Leaving is a Mirage

This desert has been our home too long, shall we leave together even if as promised even leaving is a mirage?

Let this be the end of suffering, let us at last float away from this wasted and wasting abattoir of a world.

Walking on the beach, walking in the forest, walking to the altar, walking past the grave.

Between stars, more stars - this is all I know of comfort.

Mornings full of rain gently cradling us.

I know a sorrow that declines to named, you know it too.

Find a woman you trust, ask her what the rules are, listen to what she says, live accordingly.

In the hayloft I wake to birds singing a little after four, get on my knees and pray in the old ways, for what else would I possibly be here.  

Do you remember throwing our wedding rings into the sea together laughing and then knowing all at once what weddings are and what marriage is? 

So much darkness, so much pain, so much loss and yet.

A waiting in which one discovers there is nothing for which to wait so long as one is willing to forget everything.

Placeholder relationships all over again.

Monsters whose emergence reflect sentiments with which we are in reluctant - mostly unexamined - relationship.

Sometimes I want to die.

He called me "a broke dick drunk" once when we were both wasted and he wasn't wrong on the one hand but on the other he was wrong in a way for which we both paid more deeply than any loving god could possibly have asked or required. 

A way of slowly licking the insides of her thighs that undoes the fear of lack in both of us. 

Luce Irigay teaching the Mother's Son I am how to say at last "there is no one in whom to remember the dream of yourself."

In which the blowjob becomes a footnote to a greater healing mostly now behind me.

Spending early hours in the potato garden, later coming in to write and read this or that difficult text, altogther insisting on a peace that has - as yet - declined to be reclaimed or found. 

Opposite exist together, when will this stop being a problem for us?