Quicksand: I Win.

 

LISTENING > READING: [audio mp3="https://jenvera.files.wordpress.com/2014/07/i-dont-walk-into-any-room.mp3"][/audio]

 

I don’t walk into any room I can’t walk out of anymore

There’s a tempting mass of stickiness, reassuring faux floor of quicksand

Until I’m dragged under some spell of wet mass and leaves behind your door

You are wondrous in the space between your naval and chin

“Won’t I come out and dance?” you ask, oh but yes, past-self a little excited

Remembers the taste of the space between clavicle and earlobe

The scent of the hallow concave under your chin

Present-me watches calculating how many steps inward it would take

Meticulously observant of the serpents crawling on your walls

I even know the taste of their tongues; there’s no skeletons in your closet I’ve not met

Because I always was the biggest one

 

there are those things I miss, the familiarity of someone

who’s seen my face in expressions few can read

Who’s coached me through my youth and monitored my growth

But presently present-me cares nothing for familiarity

So hyperaware of each moment’s uncertainty

You watch me wondering if it’s really the girl you knew

Grown a woman so familiar yet so different in ways you can’t even explain

Her eyes warm, yet detached in some strange manner

Her face older somehow, yet you can’t pinpoint the age marks, or the smile lines

Maybe it’s the way her breasts stand a bit lower to the ground than they did

Maybe it’s the way she sees through your faux floors, silver tongued monologues of longing

 

She’s there, but something doesn’t feel safe anymore, as though she’s seen too much to care

There was a moment in between the space of the open taxi door

where nothing slipped off the tip of her tongue in the place of a bold statement

that could have changed it all but you paid the driver before it was said

Tiny moments, uncertainties and her eyes glaze over that soft spot below your chin

And you with your eyes longing, wondering how long it will take until she comes in

Instead she examines the mess above the quicksand, like a scientist

as though she barely recalls you that resides therein

And quietly closes the door.

It’s just that I don’t walk into any room I can’t walk out of anymore

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