Lonesome lines

Forget wading through the river. The current is harassing and the bottom, dismissive. The whirlpools, evasive; the haughty, permissive. The stones have bullied the balance right out of my gesture. The silt between them grips my gait like it’s in the market for ground bone. The critters beneath nibble at my flesh as it’s shaven, tickling my wounds with their whiskers. Their eyes leak desire when I’m moistened. The fish are hungry here.    
   
Forget walking through the forest. Seven minutes in and the trees aren’t done whispering my location. There’s no silence to be had in these darkened venues. No hint of obscurity amongst the nettles. The moss strangles the wrists of the pine vying for my attention. In his palms, the sap traps the winged ones as they settle; the hinged ones as they meddle. There’s no room for me here, there’s too much decay where I want to leisure. Besides, the mushrooms are spitting their spores into my ears. I haven’t time for their lecture.    
   
Forget tracing my name on the beach with the driftwood. I’m just marring the bones of the departed; intermixing the skulls with the rib cages; the mussels with the clams. A mishmash of species; the dust of their bodies lay the lines of my lovers name to be washed away with the tides. The ocean doesn’t want me to leave traces of myself here; wiping my steps as their lain. I hope I don’t ever get lost here, I’ll never find my way back if it was up to him.    
   
Forget climbing down from this mountain. The cliffs are too steep. The fissures, too deep. There are too many dips and divisions down there. These quips of strangers, always in collision. I like the way the sun strengthens my chin; with my eyes closed, my chin raised to absorb the essence. I am in debt to this level of consistency. I revel across the crescendo that I am proffered. I look down on the path I once tread and sense fear. I’ll never go back there. There’s weight on this apex. It’s heavy like the pomposity of a queen. I could get used to this level.      
   
Forget that our meeting was by chance. I have breathed in the signs that were offered. Brought poise to the music. I dallied throughout the noise of contemplation. I offered hope to the crossed; offered coats to the lost. Lent a hand in a flair; whittled down their despair. Measured fate as it’s spun for lonesome lines still parallel one another.