the bones about it 7/15/19

our bodies are anecdotals.

and our feelings unattended 

become passe.

I have no knowledge 

of the intense lovemaking of the ‘now’.

for I am beside myself 

with artifacts and memories.

where we are this light,

it casts no shadows.

the song of this goes on

but never becomes sounded as sung.

experience of this 

washes off real clean

yet the isness is undisturbed.

they call it out as love 

with initials 

carved into the wearings of lifetimes.

glimpses of these there-afters

become the continuance of religions.

knowing becomes the petals of memory

falling off the livingness of humans as trees.

yet I wear the down of uprisings

and accessorize with aftermaths. 

I am the abusiveness of intimacy

and the luster-dust of radiance.

I am every octave as open pores,

the cubicles of eternities,

the eddies in the rippling phase 

of flows that last forever.

I am the wink of eras

and the slander of shameless time.

I am humbled as mass

and nothingness as delight.

all surface is butt slander,

in that, oneness has no face.

I offer you the beyond

as a slap on the camouflage of being.

future is a smirk, 

always forthcoming.

the present grabs your throat.

we have lips that meet. 

now is coming into this where-upon.

I am you, 

as are our tongues.

we are this child of existence.

and we only are the bones

that we make about it . . .