language

she reaches for something
flipping her wrists
jumping into the arms of he or she
she contorts to fit the others limbs

we pull our masks off each morning

she jerks in the embrace
fingers extended
to some other dream of life
her feet moving to the rhythm of her
own
heart

collapses without falling.

she takes a hand
between her own
elbow extended
her knees
buckling
under some
imaginary weight
of
being

we are not alone.

she drops her head
to a silent rise
as if proclaiming
all the words she will never write
whilst in this arms akimbo moment

we hide because we must.

she straightens her toes
touching floor
as if gliding on some kind of
table made from air
her abstract
so
intended

we yearn.

she jumps to the opening
of the others
extensions
and rides them until she
arrives in otherworlds

because there is no other way but this.

she is the pressing down
of each key
the arching back of
some form of
ecstasy
that can only be known
with two

we run from what we want.

she steps towards
because
today
she
cannot run

today we can only confess.

today
she crumples
mid reach
and
begins
again

as do

we.


kim thompson. wed 21 dec 2011 @ 19.16 seoul. s. korea.