2021-03-10
by
Eleanor Goldfield
I'm letting myself miss you -
I'm letting you soak into my soul -
high off this low
and I can feel you in my bones -
your thoughts pulse in my marrow -
and I can taste your dreams -
I'm letting myself drink your echoes -
not for you, but for me
I wanna feel this deep -
your breath rushes these passages -
but this inhale is mine -
these caves I'll mine -
dig to the depths till there's nothing left -
but me -
raw, jagged and real.
Alive.
exhale.
I think I'll stay here a while.
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I got a present for you at one of those gas station gift shops in the middle of the desert - not because I’ll ever have a chance to get it to you not because you'd like it – but because I needed to tell someone somewhere that I’m thinking of you.
I needed to commiserate – I needed to put you out of my mind as you tear through my soul – needed to pour the overflow into this plastic dope and float on a silently laughed scream as I place it on the dashboard and dream.
You'll never read this – and you'll never see it – but for a moment, it helped – holding your echoes with a piece of capitalism in my hands, singing along - breathing my ache in a hot desert nowhere – reminded that only the plastic will last – and this too shall pass.