Dissection of Passion

We. Creatures of curiosity. Creatures of exploration expedition. Examination creatures of exposal exhibition. Creatures of explication we are creatures on a constant crusade to permeate the depths of mystery that are the world that are life that are the incorporeal imaginations of a rogue god – this creature – of enigma of question of inquiry on a constant crusade to penetrate. And nestled deep in this innate belly fire lying fetal is the truth – a known sense; that is: something known. With ambitious passion, a flash spark. This is where love lies. (Because love always lies.) Love as inquiry. Why love subsides in the known space, once the line is drawn from Mintaka to Alnitak and suddenly you see the belt – Orion. Why I miss you the way you used to be, when I didn’t know anything about you and you didn’t know anything about me. The myth was us and how we came to be. A chance for explanation and dilation: pupils. A wetting. Of lips that meet at first tender and then desperate, the frustration of a necessary breath. A chance for examination – what does this mark mean? This one on the tip of your elbow, white and stretched taut. I have memorized you from scalp to toenail. I have reached inside the cavern of your chest and removed your mystery. I have stripped you of all pretension and loved every boundless molecule of you, body and soul. Consumed transeunt and tired of it. I woke to your skin every morning, woke in your skin, wore it all day wore it loose. Love is a withering thing, or is it wuthering – a fierceness of extra-weather patterning across sparse faces. I wish I hadn’t seen you like that but I wished to see. I wished to see more: more of you, more with you, more than you. In that order. I have the same tendency with sneakers, I wear the soles out so quickly. We had tea together. I hate tea. I read the leaves in your eyes, a goodbye. I would have died by tooth of lion for you, if only we had braved the gladiatorial pit. Perhaps we were born in the wrong century. This is not a story of heartbreak, my dear, it is the story of reality as written by the stars of fable. And we were the lesson: to hold close your fervor as it is easily leeched by the banal transgressions of daily life. We cannot always be as epic as we wish. So it is.

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