Of The South

The plane lifts-off, and another goodbye
to the patchwork landscape
seamed with dirt roads and highways,
to the green of the South
to the blue of the Skies.
I relearned your awkward grace
your hair, now longer than mine
falling over your face.
Pink lidded, red lipped,
we lay curled like clenched fists
limbs tangled, heads resting.
I couldn't tell your body from mine.
And I know someone right now,
feels the way I do.
Someone bit her lip at the airport gate
because she promised not to cry.
Your mother told me
that part of you died
please don't forget
the part that survived.
A week of Oscar-winning monologues
that neither of us could remember
until we got stoned again.
I asked you everything
I ever wanted to,
you told me everything
that you never did.
I traced the patchwork landscape of your body
seamed with scars and lines
in the Heart of the South
and the Soul of the Skies.
Falling into the wordlessness
we never needed to speak,
a touch, a glance, a motion
any or all sufficed.
Baptized in your one single tear
lifted to my lips and tasted.
This is my body, this is my blood,
and you are my salvation.
The good-byes don't get any easier,
I'll see you soon, though...
I'll find you when you need me,
search the patchwork landscape
seamed with your blood and mine
from the Sadness of your Mouth
and the Sorrow of your Eyes.

(c) 2001 by (++)Laura(++). All Rights Reserved

My Subliminal Guide To Insanity