v u l v a l i c i o u s
Fall is coming. Start looking busy.
I had a conversation with her last night which lasted for about an hour. In that space of time, we talked about little things and relationships.
And relationships as little things.
And her intelligence and strength and that strange calm she has have a way of captivating me when I am not resistant. And I don't want to resist. This is the problem.
I want to talk with her for long stretches; I want her knowledge and her power and her odd detachment to fuse with my frenetic insides, stretching me for days. I like to feel changed, thought-provoked, after talking with her. With anyone.
And her nonchalance would amaze anyone, I think. It is daring, brilliant, solid.
She is a Rothko painting, solid-looking block of color hovering over me, covering the room with her presence. She is intensity and depth of color that only strike you upon close examination, closer, closer, until the painting looms over you, engulfing, becoming your world.
The blue it speaks so full, It's like the beauty one can barely stand or too much things dropped in your hand. And there's a green like the peace in your heart sometimes printed underneath the sheets of ashy snow. And there's a blue like where the urban angels go, very bright.
And instead of wanting her, I want to be her. Want to be, in some way, perhaps, a part of her. Swallowed by the blue.
May the Cunt become the Engulfing Sea and Swallow me. Whole. Heart and All.