Bodies in Oasis
The kiss you left me with was full of acetone. Stripping away the polish that I thought worthy enough to put on display. The sun-filled finger tips no longer caress my skin. I am left pale and bare, longing to be sun-kissed again. Your whispers that were once relayed from my eardrrums to my brain are now lost somewhere in the file cabinets of the memories that I no longer hold.
There are noises in the internal organ of the walls. I lay and attend in the gloom. Something swims in the vacancy between the dry wall and the brick. Its noise fabricates a pushing force like nails across a board, in which the wind amplifies.
Once it is amplified, it becomes ear piercing, the abash that settles into one’s spine when it loathes the waves of sound. The noise, it moves around me, from the ear, to the neck, to the back, and an unrelenting warning of what might be core.
I will not find out until I break through the barrier between. Through the paint and the worn insulation, the movement stays and haunts me.
Ocean salt burns my eyes. Unsaturated colors materialize overhead. The head is completely immersed in the gaping blue, but the salt swivels the color to a purple. Sunlight purlins through the surface, reflecting off of the water that adjoins. I heave my head to face the sun, but the sailor remains in my tear ducts.
