chez renee

she takes me in mourning
the peak of dawn
crimson slithers under blinds
in echos of past and future

and i hear her calling
her voice burdened with wisdom
she tells me:

"the past is only here to kiss the scars from your eyes,
to lie you every lullaby until you slip"

and our bodies hit
caving walls
peeled paint

he crescends into me

and she tells me a story of lost beginnings
of a woman named renee johnson
and a past condemned to sea green fortresses
and wrought iron gates

the cinematic story simmers
laced in wine and turbulence
my body aches with languish

she tells me:

"you were too young to comprehend
and you are now to old to understand"

so i let him pull me under
melting into egyptian cotton

we drown in nostalgia

she lets go of my hand
and i linger for a moment
wondering how renee johnson's story became so tangled in my own

and i let her slip into oblivion
i am no longer abashed

the air loses its weight above me
he draws me to the future
and we let this ancient house crumble to obscurity


twenty eleven is an excellent year
to disappear.

Author's Note

i'm aware that crescends is not a word. it should be. it would be a good word.