delta

that we'd chatted before, you and I, was not a dream and so when it came time to speak I couldn't not for lack of things to say but more the space and time had changed and suddenly you were flesh and bone and asking me what i wanted and my reply was so vast, so huge and loud it filled that new space with silence keeping time and you wondered aloud how long it took. i woke that morning with dreams tangled between my toes as they peeked out from the blanket only half covering bare breasts and opposable appendages soft whirls on each tip, five and five, ten and ten, alluvial plains each of them recording years of sedimentary memory in motion they press and impress on this face and chest still heaving with the patterns and variations that lead to last night and tomorrow and the day before that

later you gave me ride and there I was again, alluvial plains ready to press and impress you, to deposit and erode, to keep you closer and unclosed to the high side of my blossomfolded windfurled wonderings looking down on this delta in transition, triangular facets of higher climbs throwing shadows into their crevasses who throw them back because there are already too many dark corners filled with forgotten bits of time and place. but i didn't touch you, not because i didn't want to but because the geography of my exploration was so vast, so huge and lit that I thought I'd rather be able to fold its topography into my darker pockets to run my opposables over later.

I don't know where to take you when there is no shared space nor time to share it. business seems to be the business of our daze and I'm reminded each time that orange lights up that you are not at home, or are and have too many things in one room to have room for one more. but then it is a butterflystomach thing to want a horse of a different color just for that one midnight ride but who can help it, who have felt that fine afterglow of leaning into a bit of chaos, who have seen the delta in the morning...