Sunday, August 14, 2011

Love Like A Suicide Bombing



older posting 3 of 3


 
We became visible in the headlights of passing cars if only for fractions of a second. With each flickering of illumination I get a snapshot of a headcase who can't keep the secret she so wishes she could hide from the world. It's a beautiful paradoxal siren, dressed in the finest cut off camo shorts and short-sleeve button down shirt, that grasps my left hand as a vicegrip would. With no direction or destination, our get-away sticks carry us like dandelion seeds floating carefree on summer night breezes. The highway is huge when you're walking next to it, even the lane lines look twelve feet long. Thats enough depth to bury someone you love so much twice over.

Another flow of traffic rumbles the cement we roam near, with great force and majesty, speechless we gaze drop-jawed in amazement. I can't help but look back at her face again and again. Melanin tapestries sewn painstakingly to steal the breath from me. Velvet caramel stained all over with whipped cream, my teeth hurt from how delicious her body appears to be. The lights are fading, I have only my memories. Chunks of gravel under my Onistuka Tigers make the most iritating scratching sounds, so I look into my eye's corner to change the subject with a peeping tom view of a piercing phoenix trapped in the flesh.

Even the brightness of the moon above us is jealous of how brightly she shows the world she is. Deep under the skin her body cloaks itself in, there is a broken bloodpump. The plumbing of the building I call immaculate is rusted and falling in on itself. Headlights come running. This is my chance to gather data one last time, so I fetch every inch of her into my head so I can somehow realize how I can rescue her from the virus that spoils her gift. Internal nailbomb poised to destroy the wrapping. It's been a long night of walking west with her in a quiet symphony, so now the final notes must be played and the curtain must fall.


I walk her to the exit ramp where I struck her in a drunken swandive three years ago.


Good night love, I will walk with you again next year: same time, same place.



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