06: Open - June 2021

Natural Deconstruction

 As we recline on the roof of this borrowed car,
 our skin lies
 as canvas to the paint of the ethereal 
 midnight blanket of wonders
 stitching our shadows together.
 Our presence in this absence
 of light disrupts the branches swaying to the incessant
 beating of our young breaths.
 Overlooking the restless city from this balcony 
 of dirt and dreamy musings, we imagine
 ourselves as lighthouses of warmth
 illuminating the streets, skyscrapers, and solemnity.
 You extend your fingers to deconstruct
 everything lying before us. I extend
 mine into the pockets of my jacket that 
 you tore two weeks ago. That was the Monday
 we decided we would desert all
 that we knew, to deconstruct the threads
 of our current stories into a new mess
 of intertwined adventures into uncertainty.
 For now, we are cradled by the stillness
 surrounding us. Soon, our bodies will become glaciers
 that will fully dissipate when the familiar morning
 emerges out of the torn pockets of horizon.
 When my eyes return to you, a lighter
 already indents the palm of your right hand.
 If fire was sound, our bodies would
 scream at the spark of our own realities.
 Your arm interlocking with mine, you toss
 the lighter, enkindling the car in hazardous
 waves of artificial sunrise, a beacon
 for the runaways of this aging night.
 Steadying ourselves for the run
 to the train station, we look ahead, away 
 from our past selves we incinerated, 
 from the histories, the places, the people 
 caught up in the wildfires we instigated
 within the forests of our own selfishness.
 Maybe pieces of ourselves are drinking 
 interior thoughts to control the flames of ardent sorrows.
 We were walking phoenixes, 
 trying to avoid the ignition that would 
 melt our own existences until 
 we desired to start anew.

-JP Legarte


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