Thursday, 13 June 2013

Mazeophobia - the fear of getting lost

My hand rests on your shoulder, I trace over your collar bone. How can I tell you what I feel? I want to know every thought; I want to wade, knee deep, into the bent reeds of your mind, intrepid and unafraid.

I want to run my fingers over the wooden shelves of your subconscious, the soft morning sun warming their oak, and come up with the dust of a million forgotten memories.

I imagine some vast blue sky, familiar azure yet foreign clouds.

My palm is over your heart. I could get lost in the flood. You are an ocean, an unfathomable depth of places I can never explore. I want to light a bonfire on your shore; I want to set fire to every dark corner of your psyche.

I feel your breath on my neck and all at once, I lay cold and awed in the tall, swaying grass as a vermillion sunset sets the sky ablaze.

I want to blow over you like a hurricane, upsetting everything you take for granted, swirling the leaves of your thoughts into a crescendo.

 Your laugh is cool water on my scorched subliminal, a welcome dive into a still lilac lake while birds fly south and autumn leaves fall to earth. I want to float, to fade into a speck of light in your golden ambiance.

“Never leave me,” I whisper.

I feel you smile into my hair. It is a still southern night filled with the cadence of a thousand lonely crickets, singing to a forlorn, silvery moon.

“Never,” you whisper back.

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