Creases

Off the story pages, I tried to leap out of the inky, dusty words

I tried to creep out of the black, tar-like smudge that was bludgeoning my existence

Into a dead pool of the snow-hell, black-hole sun devastation

I gripped onto the yellowed floor of the once pristine white flour paper

It was no surprise it felt slippery and uneven, a drooping, loopy mess

Am I a character of a once forgotten forged nightmare, or a true romance with a sudden halting, screeching, bloody

End?

My darling, my very lovely, cranky old bird,

Do I know your name,

Or does that even matter

As you can grip that unseen force of my own pneuma, at the very bottom of my deepest river inside, gripping it like the Jaws of Life

Holding, steadfast and fierce,

Scraping off the gunk and breathing in

The fire I so desperately

Desired, Needed

To escalate my feelings into motion.

No, our names are scattered to a long forgotten storm, old and beautiful and lost

And we can feel our identities intertwining in that shared rain,

It does not need a title or a link to the natural order of nomenclature

But our story has creases, my love.

And the creases fold over

Waves of ocean

Hurricanes

That sound like they can move the earth

And reform it into a new chapter

Off the story pages

I leapt

I faltered

I loved

I cried

I built

I sank

I tumbled, I fell

No one can escape their own story, my darling

So let us create a new one