Firethorn's Den

Axis of Being

Some day that particular decay of the abundant distillation will surface from the abyss, and the thought of the probability makes me cringe, for I cannot see myself fading in and out beyond the backdrop like phantasmal mists to avoid the direct hits from passerbys' barbed-wire remarks. I have coveted Eve's apple for quite some time now for the sake of prowess she possessed. I long to prevent the reflection of my desire (for you, always for you) from blurring into mythology: the silence of sulking sun, the quizzical yearning of ochre moon, the haunting wails of raw words that would rather cling to tongues than roll out between the breathing.

At times people laugh when they find me loitering on sidewalks trying to make sense of patterns on pavements. I envy the fine dirt that seems to know how to gather sunlight succinctly to showcase its elegant drawing. I envy it so much that I drag my foot across to smear those acute lines just to show who is in command. There it is again, the Eve's apple I long to possess, so much that the ritual of my searching makes the depths of my irises glint like binary stars.

Everywhere I go, I cannot get the image out of my mind, you in my bed, but it is so vague because I don't know exactly how you sleep, on your back or on your side, to the left or to the right. Maybe you like to sprawl in the middle just like me and that would be a problem for we would fight endlessly to keep our precious space. It is a sin, is it not, to fight, I mean? And that makes me shiver each time I hear rain falling. I have this crazy thought about forty days of rain and Noah's ark. I visualize the water, cool and resilient, yet dominant enough to exude threats, kissing each grain of being gently before flooding out the pulsated music from the universe. How can we bring ourselves to be the cause of this demise? How can you? So, I figure for the good of everyone's interest, you shall sleep on your back while I sprawl on my stomach as usual, of course, I will be on top of you but I don't weigh a ton, so there is no need for you to be alarmed.

Many times you say angels bathe themselves in my purity, and each time I hear that, I imagine the long ribbon of river Ganges rippling in light served by dawn, the way days always begin, and people wrapped in soft cloths bathing at the banks, trying to purify themselves. Sometimes my childhood prayers swirl in my head like a funnel of a tornado with a deafening sound that could drown out a demon wishing looming like a landmark on a barren land. Then I become speechless with my mouth gaping half dazed at the threshold of distant sun until I feel a liquid fire burning at the bottom pit of my stomach, until I realize my eyelids drop to cover the stars, and the sun closes in to capture my mouth completely.

© 6/7/03

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