Sleepless

Remember like I remember (every sunrise, sunset) the wet, billowing heat, the afternoon monsoon crashing into our tin roof, the world shut out from our wooden room, and two bodies lashed by sex. Desire is too weak a word. Our lust eclipsed friendship, love, respect. These were masks hiding desire. You saw how my hands shook? My hands never shake. I stopped writing. What did I care about staining pages?

Did you ever feel like you were upside-down on the world and it was spinning so fast that your hair blew back from your face?

Do you ever drift back into those drowsy lifetimes between asleep and awake when we curled helplessly into one another? Those too-short seconds before the ego awakes, lifetimes where we were whole as an egg.

When you think of me, what does that mean about me? I hope sometimes you think of me kindly.