::Messages::

   The flaring of signals does beam unintentionally. The body moves in unspoken language. It invites to hold while it makes a place that is safe and solid. A kiss involves an open mouth surrounding and enveloping anothers. Messages are sent across the lines the tongue draws from your mouth to the theirs. We move, we breathe, we hold then release and as love envelopes each and every pacing there still is one true thing steadily communicated: it's all an illusion.
  We're here today, tomorrow, and next week. Opportunities to pull close are ever present as we pull away. I hold true and fast to my systemic beliefs. I live unfazed by the gamble. I hold true because I have one line of sight. One target alone that matters in my heart space. The messages are pumped through me with my blood. It keeps the spark even when the bombs are going off in my head, stomach, and telephone line. Is this what being a romantic is? The ability to sacrifice all logic for an ideal? I never knew I was this capable of ignoring so many things. That they wouldn't matter as they would have before. But there is one thing being sent through the airwaves: it's all temporary.

  I'm here today, tomorrow, and next week. I hold myself out unselfishly because I have nothing to lose from where I am. This building allows shifts in the blueprint. There is still room for this in my plans. There is still space to carry on in my heart. The calender days turn one after the other. Each filled with newness and decision scripted onto the plan. I feel myself surround myself cocooning. If I focus on transformation and creating will everything be different? Will I wake up one day with new organs, new capacities for feeling, new flesh? Will there be an awakening in the world outside myself that clicks inside my new skin? I hear the steady buzz through the power line that says you are mine. We are here and together and building something magical. Static electricity crackles at my hairline whispering: it's all uncertain.
   And it is...and you are...and our circumstances may be so, but my heart pumps different songs that my blood keeps singing. Forming this new flesh, new organ, new capacity involves trusting. Trusting in the things I feel, and am building. The unspoken languages held inside the body are my volumes and I read them over as the calender days turn today, tomorrow, and next week. Singular in focus and with one target in mind I beam myself out unselfishly in trust while the bombs go off in my head, stomach, and network line. I hold true to the ideal...romantically.