Peaches So Ripe

I have now listened to "Take On Me" by Aha approximately 40 times tonight.  That's on the heals of having listened to it about the same number of times last night.  It's late.  I've been writing my "fiction" tonight in the first person.  I write in the first person exceptionally well.  It seems to be my medium.  The difference between me writing in first and third are huge.  The story I'm writing needs both perspectives. I'm going with it.

What keeps going through my mind is "What the fuck?" and then "What the fucking fuck!"  My head is such a congregation of strangeness: foxgloves, dahlias, music, the past, my prickly skin, movements into the future, narratives, vegetables, weeds, flight, wonder, roses, scent of spring, driving fast on my scooter, unveiling the psyche, listening to the eastern hemisphere while I sleep, sinking into clay, finding my sisters, holding onto them, pulling corpses out of ditches, backtracking scars, filling need, accepting the obsessive sorting...the scent of lilacs on the dulcet air.

Remembering when I could see the soul through a keyhole.  I see.  I see what you think is invisible.

Muscles remember. Muscles react.  Mine have contracted and convulsed a thousand times in the dark with no water.

Here we are.  Love is the elixir we try to recreate.  Peaches so ripe they fall apart in the dark.  Watermelons that burst with watery heat and the seeds of hell.  We part fruit from its pith and then we look for paradise.  Over and over and over.

Love someone.  Because it is all the noble you can achieve in the end.  Love, because it opens the heart wider than the light does.  Love because no scar can come between you and the skin stripes.  It comes down to saying hello to the sun.