as he is
we do not share this moment
as he is
and i watch him full of chaos, anger, and love
so, we are both alone
i then watch the puffing of his chest
and when it descends, inevitable
no breath under water, antediluvian
we do not share this moment
as he wakes
and i watch him see the light and rise
so, we are both alone
i then watch his hands stiffly fold
within the frozen blue in his eyes
unhidden behind lids, rapid and furious
we do not share this moment
as he leaves
and i watch him want to belong here
so, we are both alone
i then watch; how easily he rested
some kind of loose association
not found guilty; but stoic, irreverent
we do not share this moment
as i sleep
and he watches me become liminal
so, we are both alone
he then intended to be my dreams
followed with ruthless intensity
deep imagination, with shallow interest
so we do not share this moment, again
About the Creator
⸘jason alan‽
:::WARNING:::
i am only responsible for what i say,
not for what you understand.
you may learn to be charmed by my [secret‽] discontent,
or you may not.
Keep reading
More stories from ⸘jason alan‽ and writers in Poets and other communities.
Dead and Wearing Green
She was wearing that green dress when I first saw her, five years ago to the day. Flowing meadow fabric draped over long legs, thick auburn hair flowing down her back. That smile. Of course, she is still beautiful now. But now she is no longer alive.
By Karen Cave8 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
This was an interesting read, and I wonder what will happen to the relationship, which feels like it’s on the brink. The repetition of “we do not share this moment” is powerful.