by essayan hart
some nights i just worry about you, because its been too quiet. because the phone hasnt rung since your last catastrophe. my heart is a windup toy with many alarms.
tonight i studied leonard cohen as scripture and tuned in to the whistling stars. the city is vast and the bridge that separates us is thin and long.
as always, you will call, eventually, and everything will appear to be fine. the lamp will grow dim, and then the flame will leap. even we have our rhythms.
here, in the heart of Ein Sof, i am illiterate, and i mutter your name accidentally, between pages. the electric lights humiliate us, but you take no notice. you collect futures in cast iron and parchment. i am concerned that time might shatter again, leave us tracing illegible truths in chalk.
if your lover was kind to your heart, i wouldnt mind the distance. the thin bridge would never threaten us, and the stars might laugh a little. if your lover was kind to your heart, i might marry a scientist, get knocked up, toss the whole of my worries up, leave them for the moon to sort.
as it is i carry us like a viper. the poison i carry, this love, might save us both, if we just wish it.
as it is i carry us like a viper. the poison i carry, this love, might set you free.