I love more

What happens to us? the wonder? the fruit of our labor-ous (less) loves? the brown skin? seeping past the bruise itself but to more. muscle. bone – ivory no more but darkening. press a button. press it down. yellow seeps in too around the rim. a dying star of skin. am I a dying star? are you dying too? my skin sloughing off. I’ll never get my cells back. dust it’s all dust in corner cracks. the house moved and empty. corner cracks are always forgotten. I love you. I love this. I love. more than I can. I love foundations and falling off of them. I love my nerves exposed like bright red anemones in an ocean sky. I love it and it makes me sick. I’m sorry I feel more than I control. my eyes blue with wild. the turning I am under a moon. or the kiss of a bee. it’s such a beautiful bee and for one moment I’m a thin vein on a white wing. and nothing more.

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2 Responses to I love more

  1. Penny says:

    I arrived here via Marylinn’s blog.

    Letting go of things isn’t easy, although we don’t really, truly let go do we – there are always our memories.

    I love your writing (and that you wear purple sandles), and will visit again.

  2. rachvb says:

    Everything we do seems to become a sort of freckle on us. We carry it with us always.
    Thank you for the kind words. I’m glad you stumbled here!

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