Monday, May 19, 2014

Holding Against.

If I knew what I was doing,
I would not be doing what I'm doing.
You can always play the guitar like it's silent:
lose the loss and not the intent.
Please hold it against me.
Dot your eyes and cross this T.
Hold your love up close to my heart.
Hold me down so as not to part.
I want to feel it close, velvet,
deep level vibrations like a threat.
As when I felt something back then
without questioning the sensation.
The black holding the stars together,
the sky holding up the weather.
The black of which you talk of,
the tantrum of sparks of which you balk of.
To make a little decision,
to disavow with such precision.
That black is just as flat
as the endless expanse unwrapped.
That squirming little worm,
the smoldering ball defined carelessly as a term,
made out of construction paper,
to be pasted on the wall a bit later.
That worm that gets to change what you see.
Until it doesn't and you hold it against me.
Done breathlessly.
My arms spring upwards into action,
thoughtlessly enacting throat protection.
It is involuntary and I do not want it.
Hold it against me and I'll flaunt it.

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