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Sufficing Phase-changes- a verse getting nowhere.

(Title, body, language, concept, message still in work.  Any and all suggestions are welcome).

Certainly there exists a prime manner
in which to convey messages,
so all that remains missing, to be understood,
are the pauses in-between spoken breaths,
or spaces between written words.
I would take her on long strolls-
far longer than the difference in our heights-
through Paris; streets littered with
early-morning dew on bougainvillea leaves, or
late-night frost assuring windows cannot be seen through.
Both forms of nourishing water
would remind us of why we are there:
the drops on leaves soon to be flicked off
displaying just how something reappears
should it be just that necessary to thrive,
the frost on windows soon to be wiped off
showing just how easily we come to see
that we don’t see anything at all;
all the while gloating its ability to overtake glass,
while shying from its easy removal if done properly.
I would take her through lush parks;
the yellow birds cheering at our return
and wind blowing our hair together- heads together-
to assure that each strand is somehow entwined,
letting us know we would not come undone
with a whistling tune through the lit streets.
We would, by then, need our black coats.  Enveloped
by them too, but we’d melt into one another nonetheless
as if the threading opened itself up to that of the other coat
so as to allow us to pass through.
Then, night-time would rise around us,
and with it the frost along the windows.
And so, I would take her to the nearest café; with an eloquent poem,
a sole candle between us, and speak without restraints
while listening to a Parisian accordion invigorating
our hearts, minds, and feet to mix and twirl together
like former prisoners with recently removed ball-and-chains.
I would, like another layer of fabric, encircle her with my arms
and carry her on my back- alongside Notre Dame, beneath Eiffel Tower-
far shorter than the height of our spirits.
Then, when the clock strikes midnight,
indecisive on its pursuit of the next day
or to resign itself in the past,
we would take one another
on a terrace overlooking the Seine,
a creation of each dew drop conjoining
in order to simply overlook back at us.
No, we would need no garments,
much less black-lace fans covering
our already-flushed red faces.
We would whisper to one another,
and our vocal cords would converse
in a way making it seem we were children;
naïve babies in strollers in the city earlier that day-
but we would nevertheless be understood.
Visible air would appear around us, from our gaping mouths,
because the wind would have by then grown
shy and red, resembling our faces, and hot at such a sight.
And after its end, we would’ve decided for the clock
and pushed on in pursuit of the hour of the following day-
and by then realised that love is not enough; is abstract,
in comparison to the physical form next to you.
So, when I think of the possibilities,
I grow cold at the actual occurrences
that had taken form of our actions instead:
in the end of January, Florida
was still holding a competition between the cold and heat.
And I, still with the Parisian accordion music embedded in my head
from a collection of songs I heard in a store,
arrived home with her, both exhausted.
We ate reheated food
and then slept, equally entwined.
But before the day progressed- trespassed,
I took her walking down the street, cars speeding between lanes,
desiring nothing with us, like wind between city alleys.
We wore coloured sweaters- mismatched, not caring-
and walked alongside dry, yet living, grass.
The gusts produced from the streaming cars-
now appearing like metallic streams,
weren’t sufficiently strong to usurp control of our hair.
We arrived at the Starbucks nearest my home
and warmed ourselves with cinnamon-vanilla coffee,
and with each other’s body sitting side by side.
Placing drinks on the candle-less table before us,
we spoke hesitantly, struggling with words-
we assessed how to wipe clean these windows which caused
my bedroom candle's wax to cry as much as we had exactly a month ago.
Calm music played from artists half-known to me
that nevertheless urged us to
stay seated and grounded to the discussion at hand.
I couldn’t write anything earlier that day or week-
there is a new savageness, uneasiness, in my primal words
I woke up one day and found
threatening to frighten the animals away,
which delves into anything I decide to write.
I encircled her, as she did me, and the issue us.
I wasn’t able to carry her upon my back;
my back was broken- not in the manner she creates,
making me hunch over due to an erection-
because my stone-like form was eroding and falling apart.
The frost on the windows once already tried
to cloud my vision from the sun-burst pattern
I see in her irises- yet failingly.
Then it tried to prevent me from looking at her
altogether- head, eyes, breasts, stomach, thighs, hips;
or any other imperfections she sees- I remain blind to.
I managed to pick her up somehow, though-
we both got into the car comfortably and
drove with the wind, flowed with the stream, to take her
home because time decided to fly and desired nothing with us.
Thus, certainly there exists a prime manner in which
to understand what remains to be understood-
the pauses in speech, the spaces between words.
Surely we saw the meaning in the wind, swimming toward us:
love is not enough; is abstract, in comparison to the physical form next to you.

8 Feb 08

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gave me a headache
 — unknown

Point taken- I had an ache writing it.
 — unknown

I really really like this one.

I have no constructive comments, only praise.

This is flawless to me.
 — BoundFeet

Thank you, BoundFeet.  Very much.  Support (or praise) is as constructive as suggestions can be.  
 — cualquier

is anyone else willing to provide something?
 — unknown

 — unknown

its too long (not your penis) and the title doesn't make sense (going).
 — friedMnoodle

The title not making sense I agree to an extent.  Particularly the "Phase-changes", the rest of it I find necessary.  I will look for an alternative to "Phase-changes" because, although it's open to interpretation, even to me despite the fact that I had a certain meaning for it in mind, that isn't necessarily good.  If you have a suggestion, do give.  (As for the mention of a penis.. regardless of whether it's random and up to your [surely] universal opinion, i[t] won't [be me who] refute[s] your claim).   (;
 — cualquier

As for being too long, well.. I can't say much there.  Structure is structure, and it turned out the way it did.  I felt if I placed everything side by side it would be a bit too messy, regardless of the juxtaposition.  You'd just need to have diligence in reading, I guess..
 — cualquier

Not trying to sound pretentious or anything, but simply saying it's too long isn't really saying much- it's hard to narrow some things down by whim because whim doesn't go far.
 — unknown

I think I just understood the phase change part.

 — vienta

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