Mapped on your body. Base of spine. If a cat you have lost 3 lives.
My lives are my loves. I too have 6 left.
A rather unusual series of events...
Heavy hearted because who doesn't want to feel?
Heavy mouths will feed. An accolade of what once was and what will continue to be. Suddenly. Almost immediate, heart sinking amongst rising floods of approaching tears.
Howl at the sun the moon is not enough. Sink wolf teeth into stone. Flesh falls from bones. Dare with mercury in vocal chords. Touch peaked too prematurely. It was marginally excusable. Now fraudulent absentian. Blown skin has chewed your tongue. You are a real human being.
Abrasion. Cold. Coldly going. Going down the frosted path I should never have allowed my feet to tread. Intercept thought processes. But it's not good enough.
My blanket of sun won't dry your sodden grey clouds. Repulsive. Look! Look how they hang in the abyss. Drenching smiles with acute deluge. This sorry atmosphere between us... no.
Route our pain with maps. Keep in with army tracks.
Easy, so... we'll circle the view. In stratum. Into this so I wander with you. Tick; it means devoutness.
Stroke the inter.
Grand plans we made in seas and rock of prominent cities. There, in surprise and certainty, so rich and decadent as much as flavoured with bitter ground reality.
Crumble around us. Left scattered amongst brick and mortar. Our dust of broken hearts will settle into new tracks.
And if we walk them again the dust will rise with fury and irritate my skin. It will indulge my weak lungs to frenzy. I will not breathe and I will sneeze from the force of travelling songs emptying from my throat and nerves, spilling on to the dusty road we made but should never have taken.
But carry on.
Give to melancholia your fated hysteria.
Even if your sweet mind can't hold your weary thoughts, your legs will push on forward. One in front of the other. Pushing against the northerly winds while your response kicks back. And so you shall see, I was right all along.

In the dark hours, when I should sleep
the light burns bright and fires are still deeply burning a flame higher and higher for you.
I will myself to break this ache
I still want to be close to you.
To just. Hold hands. Grasp at fingers. Move together.
I am moved by you. I am on my knees. On my knees so raw and calloused from dragging my heavy body through a daily routine.
But in the end, I am a woman in need. That need was not sated.
I am broken by the cause. I am destroyed by the solution.
But to just. Be with you. Take your hands. Trace your bones.
Bones. Laid bare.
Bones; grey and infected by a poison called -.
It runs deep and through fluid and solid matter
It does matter. We are still one. Or am I now half.
But to just hold you and touch you and feel you next to me. I would be happier with your flesh enveloping my flesh.
I will wait for you. Perhaps one day I will forget I was waiting. But deep inside, the poison will remain and I will be waiting like we waited.
Before we made it; we needed. And I was Naoko.
Come to my funeral. Cry. Seep out your poison.
It must end. But. To just hold you. I would cry and the poison would replenish from watering.
One Day.

You shine as silver when we convalesce in autumn sun. Such beauty reserved itself for this day. We spoke once of foul play. Never, in our heart, will such misdemeanors encourage poison to rush forwards through blue veins. We inject secret effusion each morning in glorious moments. Lips touching and devouring heady scent to remind us that we are floating with the greatest of ease down the longest river. An overflow, our love, a pure source of lust.

I noticed your stretched out toes and wanted to press my fingers in the soft gaps. You restful positions are both amusing and endearing. I want to cuddle next to your beautiful being and listen to the sweet purr as I touch the velvet ears

My body as a shell. My heart as a tomb. Waves flooded in those days where your face lit up the caverns. Now mere trickles slowly creep in. I will never again feel the rapturous tides of immense adoration. Your waters swelled in pure and filling emotion. Crisp and quenching I savoured each drop. I take these small trickles that barely cover the solid rock deep at the bottom of this shell. Those walls will grow moss. My tomb will be dank. It will cling to the mediocre supply of life filtering through. My dear. My tomb is nothing without you.

I was consumed by your breath, your presence, your touch. The first night, so real and full of love, clings on to my memory and I cannot leave it behind. I will not forget you. I will not stop loving you.

Long drawn out pauses have been replaced by incessant mumblings.
I am talking to you. Honest and desperate - curls of uncertain fragments push out from my lips. Immediately they are wafted away like bothersome smoke. You tell me that it’s not dignified but you are the one breaking apart my words until they have lost all fundamental truth.
Oh. We made this together. An uncalculated expression of desire and resignation; we needn’t have bothered. It has launched us into a continuum of nothing at all. Severity not fully understood but it will not improve after the event. Words are replaced by smiles that hide real feelings. But they cannot be shared until grass has been replaced by snow.
Matter-of-fact, succinct; banality of things said by millions of others. We are nothing special but I am still hurting. The incessant mumblings will stop.

> > > >

The silence has cast a damp shadow over our frenzied eyes.
With solemn faces, I look into your pupils. They are cold and small. Once upon a time, our eyes dilated in the instant that we saw each other. Large ebony moons in the flooded oceans of blue and green. But those oceans are deserts now and our moons are but insignificant pebbles on grey streets.
Say, did you offer me an embrace? A warm hopeful embrace making me sink into the sand? Or was that a mistake on my part? Is it more a closed cocoon where you will hide me from any other watchers? I may feel safe there but today has shown the falsity of that haven. A moment in which we both come together, but the space is greater than it is when we’re apart. The eyes tell me so.
Stretching pupils, stretching womb. I stretch to touch your face. I am extending and cradling, deeply hurting and silently staring. The shadow does not yet lift.

Crisp clicks and ticks of keys
smooth letters fixed in place
softly they give to the push of words
drowned out by white noise
and still these white tiles are clicking

I take them in my mouth
I take them in my heart
I feel them beneath red fingertips

Patient flash, white glare
clogged atmosphere heeds
little black ants from left to right
unsure of meaning
and still these white tiles are clicking

I took you in my mouth
I took you in my heart
I felt you between red fingertips

Exuding innocence
Seeping filth; glory days
Decadent in the profound I waited
Devil's hands snail pace
and still these white tiles are clicking

I took it from your mouth
I took them from your heart
I took you from red fingertips

We went to that place where the silence stung our eyes
Sticks and stones. Holding their own against broken words.
Touched and made. Lying in reprieve.
An eventuality to halt and relieve.

Sumptuous moments there beyond affection and bitterness
Electric and statism. Beating in a stained room of fullness.
Just a glance. Looking without seeing.
Feeling. We are still one being.

Cotton and stitch transfer emotion between two hearts
Excuses to touch and claim adoration amongst curious crowds.
Tears will drop. Slowly but persistent
Unfaltering. But you're resistant.

You have exhausted my waters
Your thirst for me
left me dry. You
took away every last drop
and now I cannot help myself.

Little love. You gave me great.

In the dark times
I breathe in so deeply that I feel I am taking in
the ocean
and its tides.
The empty waters swarm my lungs and cling to breath that
is now suffocated
You have taken my fundamental being away from me.

Part 3

All of a sudden, lucid and bright, burned retinas and soul engulfed by plight.
A scream she did make agonised and loud, and he had regarded but made not a sound.
It was she who had swallowed the blood-tasting pill but he did not know what it was like to kill.
She begged him to help her and curled into a ball but he had not seen the foetus and all.
“Make it stop oh won’t you please OH god no” And so it continued the cruel agony below.
In the mess and the storm, blood filled lakes flowed warm, but blood was not in her veins for reform.
The distances walked and the shoes broken in, heavy splintered womb now echoed the din.
Swollen balloon and fragile like too, language of matter precarious and blue.
The choice had been made earlier that week, and now in full swing, the process it leaked.
A calm moment approaching, both shuddered and rested; if only to ignore the constitution infested.
White hardened ball and horror existing - no longer a heartbeat of pain inflicting.
Sickeningly open and spewing and heaving, nauseating volumes of repugnant bleeding.
Worthy of noting is the sadness of exile; girl of emptiness is exacting and hostile.
How now to denounce the departed of yester, when sitting between soft is still there to fester?
In any offer the passing makes well, as they will find time does tell.
Ultimate loss but inclination conflicting, all longings left in those moments afflicting.
World still turning and breaks do not halt so in earnest they return to their life before fault.

A short developing story:

Part 1: The Event
Swallowed love is as ripe as peach nectar; animal skin smooth and kind. A million young suns at the end of nerves rush to breathe in oxygen at the surface. Tingling. Blood warm throughout. Vectorous affectations, side by side, movements controlled by poetry.

Part 1a: AMOR FATI; The realisation
How unbearable to be so loved and to love as I have never before. How cruelly this love sits in my stomach, unprecedented in its resolve.

Part 2; The Eternal Recurrence.
Legless and senseless but loved. Pulsing beats and embryo rifts permeate from below. Sharp implanting in my spine, a melody resuscitating a tired soul from sleep. Cultivated but neglected in real meaning; an integral part of myself will be taken away.

Part 3; The end has light and darkness, fury and delirium.

Comfort. It's a comfortable word. Not onomatopoeic but still warming and kind. We take for granted our comfort in the new lights of morning windows but are jolted when sudden light breaks through a gap in the door. We are comfortable with our barriers, with our horizons that are still tangible. But barriers are for breaking, not just by us, but by our closest and nearest; our comforters