free write viii

and///you are the knife, digging into me, you are the knife pulling into me, dragging me across the sky. and we cry together in the purpuling clouds, tears of diamond. diamond gold diamond blue tears, pooling in our hands and you offer me a drink, you pull it from behind, from the floor and you offer it to me with both hands, both cans cupped together and you tilt the trembling liquid toward me, and it spills off of your finger tips and washes over my chin, washes over my face. i am. you are. you are my communion. and when the skies have turned, when it all fades to black, where will your eyes go? where will they find us and our treasure troves? will there be maps? will there be winds at sea to blow them here or there, to or fro? wher, where where does the last breath of the sea run down the throat of nowhere? where will we find our cast and broken ship? which shore will we call our own? will these limbs be broken and dashed? where o where o where will it go. you are the knife. digging into me, carrying me across the skie. i am your kite tied with twine to my fingers, pulling you across the flats. but here but here but here i find the serpentines. but here, but here i find the roots, the trees growing through me. when i trip and fall and knock my head, all i see is red and the only stupid thing that spills from my sill mouth, is garbled and coded. it comes out in numbers. colored numbers and rays of digital mess. its a mess, a mess a mess all this blood an offal spilling from my side. but i dont believe it, i cant see it, so i find it with my fingers, i find the open knife. i find the open trap, i find you in my side, and i split us with my fingers and when i do, when i unopen us, when we unclose, there are notes that sound with soft distortion, a trembling ember of reverberations. moving hairs moving the tiny hairs on the small of your back, the tiny hairs, the tiny hairs. and i can feel the lashes like tiny british voices. i can feel them brush across me. but, but, but... it fades. it slips into clothes ive never seen before. memories, memories, memories fade, like fingers walking across a piano, drifting up or drifting down, either way, you get to a point where you can't reach and it simply runs out. the hall is empty. it only remembers the light. it only remembers the foot falls, the dancing toes, the sprawling nights. it only remembers the tide, it comes at night, but i never see it. you can see the timber, the sea wash up beyond any place it has business being. but where does this ramble? where do i go? i can pull the knife from my side, and it shatters like class, and falls in sparkles to my toes. i can collect it, i can collect it in my hands and cup it to my lips, i can take it in my mouth and i can swallow your blades, i can put us inside me, i can swallow all you give me, i can fill the sky, i can fill the sky with our diamonds. and i can fill my side with late summer grass and early autumn nests.