The Prize (Before and After the Echo)

Am I a leaf on a tree or a tree with leaf?

My mind would’ve seen you if my eyes were blind;
the snatches of lipped smile and shouting breasts
arresting me to the sexual swatting of fly
and the ill-confident prayer for mounting music
where you and I compose the life and crowd

Introduce rituals expected and enacted
Exhibition saddles the safe of inhibition
so that I’m visiting within you and you in me
Discoveries in sweaty, adult-worded nothings
granted respect by fleshy objects with strings

The feeling floats that we’re bugs on blissing bloom
and so committed are we to the glowing Oneself
that we’re lending hearts without I.O.U.s
Who knows or cares whose is whose
when purpose is abandoned for the dream-awake

Laughter twists in the fatalism of dishonesty
I say objects are objects, you ask what’s in-between
We’ve forgotten our bodies to fuck with our minds
so that solutions play hide-and-seek and love is intrusive
Should we have known that happiness obsesses holes?
This new mind order breeds discomfort and interest

Am I a leaf on a tree or a tree with leaf?
Unanswered, ignorance is a shield and I the common Man
…but asking travels the way of echoes of echoes
until I accept that redemption and victim live hand in hand

This is Alone.

A tribute to confusing love and John Fowles’ ‘The Magus’. Image by Pexels from Pixabay.