Day dreaming from a body bag

I’m imagining a life of perfection that isn’t always perfect. I’m picturing you sleeping beside me in the dark, babbling nightmares aloud and tossing until I manage to rouse you and flick the side table lamp on. Through tear stains you’d smile up at my worry. Naked in every sense of the word you’d hold me so close we could slip and accidentally merge into one.

Closing my eyes, I’m imagining our lounge room. Shelves lining every wall and overflowing with books and roses beyond count. They smell like knowledge. Musty pages filled with beautiful language, so many alphabets and numeric symbols. All to sup from at our will. To read to one another in the bathtub of an evening and laze about lax in silks intertwined, with books and hands held firm in our fingers, candles burning all around. Vocabulary softly suspended in the air.

What quintessential haze rests beyond these eyelids.

And our strolling through the streets and forests together, laughing and singing and tormenting each other with affection. Spontaneous tattoos and cutting our hair. Colour all over our skin and nail beds perpetually stained.

I’d grow my fingernails so I could give up false tips and file them into claws. Paint them death dark black. Black claws to comb the hair from your eyes when it falls and scratch your back when you complain of an itch or if you can’t sleep and I’d ask you to sing to me. Sing to me with rolled r’s and depth beyond depth.

“Teach me how to play the piano”,

I’d ask for your help all the time,

“Teach me how to speak German, or Italian or Romanian. Or help me to speak Japanese again”
“Teach me how to sew properly”

I’m imagining a picnic blanket laden in paper, pens, Dr. Pepper and food and our bodies lain opposite one another. Writing utensil in hand I’d be scrawling sentences ferociously, too quickly would the words pour for my hand to keep up. Letters would lace and fog and the dyslexia wouldn’t help. Stories that may never be reread, stories that are lost in inscription. Stories that I am sure would be written of you laying directly in front of me and how flawless this moment is.

“Teach me how to cook your favourite meal”

I would ask something new every day.

“Teach me how to do card tricks”
“Teach me how to discern pitch and chords”

“But darling, let me teach you how it is to be loved”

2 thoughts on “Day dreaming from a body bag

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