Relationships | Gelflings At Play

Author: Molli
Tuesday 29th July 2008 at 8:12 am
Category: Love, Poetry, Relationships

Tags: us, without you

I think you must have been coded into my very cells,
deeply embedded amongst my DNA,
strands of you coiled around
essential strands of me.
How else this inability
to erase you?
I put you out of my mind,
a tenant evicted, thrown out into empty streets,
a cat let out into the night air,
exiled from home but returned to nature
trying to untame the domesticated
or tame the wilderness.
I put you out of my mind
yet here you are
pulsing in my veins,
streaming hot red through my heart.
Trying not to think of you
my heart beats in three four timing,
your name waltzing in Spanish staccato,
the sharp quaver and grace note,
“my love”
How do I not think of you
when you are the movie’s score,
the opera’s libretto?

I fill my mind with the strains of Mendelssohn’s 64th Opera,
trying to sink you in melancholy ~
an alien landscape for you
hoping you will flee to more familiar terriotory.
You make yourself at home even here
and I find myself smiling your mischievous smile
into the darkness.
I am trying to turn the lights out on you
and your eyes are glowing.
I try to stifle you with silence
and still you sing.
I try to unravel you from my mind,
try to evict you from my home,
try to wipe your fingerprints from my skin,
your laughter from my throat,
your dimple from my face

and in that tiny gesture
of my hand on my cheek
soaking in tears
acknowledging their existence
I feel your touch.

You are still here
inside me
above me
beneath me.

To remove you from my world
is to take the living from my life.

4:53pm Monday
7.July.2003

Angular Momentum by xkcd

(Cartoon courtesy of xkcd – go and check out his work and be sure to keep an eye on the alt text/titles he’s added to each!)

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Author: Molli
Wednesday 23rd July 2008 at 8:04 pm
Category: Love, Poetry, Relationships

Tags: her, me, us, you

You accuse me of theft.
How can one steal what was given?
Call me home wrecker; say I took a battering ram
to the fortress of your love, smashed the windows,
snuck off with your valuables
while you slept.
The only true thing there is, yes, you were asleep
and while you had your eyes closed
he opened the door

crammed diamonds and rubies into my soul,
gave pre-Raphaelite light
to my eyes,
filled my senses full of honey,
offered up Rilke to my ears,
Chopin to my body,
Neruda to my heart.

Say I shattered your trust.
He broke it long before my arrival on the scene.
I showed up and the tables were overturned,
the drawers emptied out and strewn across the room
as though at a market bazaar.
His heart, soul and mind were on display amongst the treasures.
No price tags. He was giving them away
and his mouth was a smiling, wide
open
door.

I stole nothing.

He was given.

4:30pm Saturday
12.November.2005

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Author: Molli
Tuesday 22nd July 2008 at 2:59 am
Category: Love, Poetry, Relationships

Tags: goodbye, grief, us, without you, you

Siamese
hip to hip
inseparable.
You grew into me
put down roots
and flourished.

Siamese
hip to hip
inseparable.
I share your heart beat
with the world
Sweat
or tears
run from my face
sheathing you
in wetness.

Do we bleed now?
This unholy separation?
Do we bleed?

Your whispers used to brush my ear
Your fingers used to tangle in my hair
I breathed in
your every exhalation
and now
now I am asphyxiating
and blood runs
torn away without formal surgery
no anaesthetic
Goodbye is a razor slicing down between us.

Siamese
hip to hip
lip to lip
inseparable

Oh, the marvels of the modern world
that you could be parted from me

Goodbye is a scalpel.

4:37pm Thursday
26.August.2004

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Author: Molli
Tuesday 24th June 2008 at 5:30 pm
Category: Love, Poetry, Relationships, The Ghost Of Miseries Past

Tags: children, miscarriage, us, you

My breath unravels,
a tortured sigh caught in barbed wire.
It streams through wounds
and the wounding things.
I came back to the old haunt
to be kissed and caressed by ghosts
but I have revisited these reminisces
too often.
In my hands – cupped – blood
and old tears.
They touch on spectral images
stain them,
dilute them.
Beneath the weight of hot liquid
memory falls apart.

My thoughts unreel
traversing abysses and rent ground
They scurry through keyholes
and the vein-cracked walls
They go searching out the dream
and faded fantasy
meeting only the dying
and devestated.
In my hands – cupped – blood
and a tiny corpse unrecognisably human.
Seven weeks since waking
to confusion
and shock
horror
Seven weeks since
hope fell apart.

I kept the secret
even as it escaped in gasps of breath
sobs of uncontrolled thought.
I know your dreams do not run
to things of blood and tears
and I would give anything
not to have brought them here to you
but we have been dancing though barbed wire
for so long now
that it seems inevitable to find one of us
ensnared, torn.

I cup the blood in my hands.
I hold a secret funeral.
No one attends.
In my heart
within me
life fell apart.
I let go then
and cannot let go now.

In my dreams
hope fell apart
life departed
in the slow run of blood

and so…

So.

II.

I do not know
will never know
how it feels to look into innocent eyes
carried within vestiges of your face
and mine.
Could I find you in such a being
or would I see only
the dimple which is mine (yours)
the blue eyes which are mine (yours)
the compact body which is mine (yours)?

I do not think I would recognise anything as being
uniquely yours
in a child of ours
until I heard him
her
laugh.
Only then would paternity be revealed.
Your laughter is unfettered,
your easy joy
and unrestrained happiness
are wild
where mine have been tamed
and remain guarded.
Your smile has no descending tilt,
no edges.

I do not know
will never know
the delight of your laughter
bursting forth from a face
that is mine and yours
co-mingled.

Dreaming carries me through brief moments only
and cannot compete with waking
to fingertips which return to me
bloodied.

I understand you
turning away.
Reality scares me too
and I can’t see the beauty in it either
at times
and I know
you would be every bit as afraid
had I held out my hands
cradling a life
with your eyes looking back at you
instead of the death I give you,
the mess of blood
and tears.

In the curve of your spine I find fear now
in its barest arch is the knowledge
that you won’t turn back again
not to kiss
not to touch
not to talk