Something always brings me back to you. It never takes too long.
We can talk it so good
We can make it so divine
We can talk it good, how you wish it would be all the time
I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.
I thought I understood it, that I could grasp it, but I didn’t, not really. Only the smudgeness of it; the pink-slippered, all-containered, semi-precious eagerness of it. I didn’t realize it would sometimes be more than whole, that the wholeness was a rather luxurious idea. Because it’s the halves that halve you in half.
I didn’t know, don’t know, about the in-between bits; the gory bits of you, and the gory bits of me.