Nosidam Elegies: The Second Elegy

2 

The head on my lap did not stir
your eyes were closed in death
as you breathed my life away
your hands were curled, limp
fists readying to reassert their might
this is not us. No

we are not
a thing. But things we became
like the upholstery of the coffee shop
sagged and reeled and pounded
black as dark, shadows that flit, never met
the table, what scattered thereabouts
mathematics and literature
abstract and abstract
obtuse and abstruse
abstruse not obtuse
that we are.

I hate boredom. It creeps into the flesh
and eats your marrow
to hallow out the halls of nihility in your femur
stagger, blunder, bluster
the knees are weak, empty columns
as I watch you sleep.

The head on my lap did not stir
your eyes were closed to life
and that, unspeakable, that yearned to take
life into life, entwine the two against the yoke
of memory and reason that declined
not so, cannot be, impossibility
so I watched you sleep.

Dreams never come.
The eyes closed, never flickered.
Paths were narrow, and straight, and brook no distinction
no intersection
how then when I walk
the path disappears, incoherent
the babble of Babel
rejected the heavens, to reach the heavens.

No
we will not be.
Things are, they seem. But beneath
it’s true, my rivers of blood
flow you. Out the heart through the body into the heart
the heart, what heart, oh that heart
pump pump pump.
A slump, a shrug. Sigh.
Your mouth is half-open
and I can see your teeth.

The head on my lap did not stir
your eyes were closed to life and death
yearn to break we bridged the gap
I crossed and got thrown back
maybe once I could come in, but not now
not ever. Not ever?
Then why is the upholstery here?

Lies or truth.
Do I lie because it kept
or is it truth that lied to be there?
Do you lie because it felt
or is it truth that confused?
And my eyes are open
and your eyes are closed
yet we are both seeing eye to eye
yet we are both blind.