Wednesday, 10 December 2014


It's amazing how two things can blur:
you take a brain and a drink
and everything slurs.

You take a century and a century,
and they just glide into each other,
future to past, past to future,
edgelessly, and seamlessly.

You see a plane in the sky
and close one eye, close both,
hold it, then open them: see anew 
how a baby would see
at four months,

or the the brightness
of a balloon
when you were two.

You take a body and a body
or two hearts, and soon
it's impossible to see
where one ends,
another starts.

You take two hands, pressing
but they stay firm:
they don't melt into each other
like chocolate, or
dissolve like dirt.

But in spirit,
they press through
each other,
like water, like air,

and yet they grip firmly,
always holding
each other there.

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