The floodgates opened and so swept in the torrent went I that heads from tails and passion from care became indistinct and merged unto themselves.
So fluent is my ability to absorb and adapt that when love and lover knocked, or banged loudly rather, I could do nothing more than reverberate and respond with the beat and beating. Just as one rap rapped rapture, a second blow blew black and blue. Whether or not it was a stagger or a profound dance, I know not at all, but in either case my movement grew or changed or both. In any event, the steps left potentials and possibilities in its wake.
I am willfully stupid. I refuse to learn. I can not and will not accept certain lessons. Perhaps it's the ornery nature of my bloodline. Bullheaded. Tenacious. Dogmatic. Stupid. Certain things are beyond intolerable, and past my sufferance.
Love does not die. It does not. It may lose its way. It may find its coat entangled on brambles, or stumble over loose ground, but it is precisely as immortal as the warmth of your mothers breath. Sometimes it falls asleep, and wakes in the evening with wafting smells of liquor and a shy sunset. It can hide behind a speck of dust floating directly before your eyes. It's an olympic runner, in the mythical sense. It taunts and teases better than any sweet store window, and knows your palate twice as well. But it knows death only as a dream between paper scented accountants.
I do not care a jot for your reason, or your proofs. You can keep them, and the sweating isolation caskets they came from. I am deaf to your earnest imploring designs. Have you heard nothing?
Underneath your fingertips, in the start of every inhale, behind your shadow, and in the shimmering reflections of your eyes; love is the ringmaster with a smirk and a flourish. It tips its hat to your debate and strikes up the band to match tempo. Love laughs at obituaries, scoffs at epitaphs, and giggles in the back row of wakes. Nothing earns death's impotent rage greater than love.
So go ahead and call me stupid, for as far as I am concerned there is no place at the table for finality when it's love bringing the banquet.
Posted by Matt at October 7, 2003 01:05 AM