A Collective 13 Song
[...and continues opening. Sarah Paddison]I felt your presence, through the smoke of a Midsummer’s Night. Felt your ashen grey threads caress the air as ghosts emerged from a dying ember. And the tears crept into my glassy eyes, lips curling into a broad smile as my heart skipped a beat. These effervescent things fade quickly, yet I could feel your warmth linger for a protracted, blissful minute. Sixty seconds of perfection--my eyes caught sixty seconds of perfection, and held on to each and every silvery whirl of euphoria.
Round three. We share a common goal. You run; you run until the dirt below your feet begins to disintegrate into dust, particles falling off the earth in heaping mushroom clouds. You run through squalor, through Port-au-Prince, past twenty seven thousand kilometers of malaria, typhoid fever, tuberculosis and HIV. Past two million dying souls and barely formed fingertips. But your feet—they won’t take you past what you endure within your heart.
Round three. I love you and your calloused hands, splintered and hardened by ramshackle two by fours and rotting plywood.
A bottle and a half down.
Darling, your face is deviating into Venn diagrams,
And I lose my footing.
Crash down on the stairs, losing my will
Next to you, sitting shotgun in a car
Chain-smoking, shirt disheveled by the pouring rain.
Losing my will, losing my heart piece by piece.
I’m tired of these lonesome evenings.
