Onion

Each discovery

Each peeled back layer of tear inducing

Onion skin wrapping

Surprises me

And yet not really

Since it all feels so

Right

Familiar

Similar

Yet different

In a mixed up

Crazy kind of way

 

Esoteric interests

Growing like the weeds between the paving stones

Of our acculturated minds

Commitments, the mortar holding us in place

Moments of revelation

And release

As we dance across

This coldlit room

No touching here

Strictly clinical approaches

But through my craft and blameless art

(Never sullen)

I have contrived through artifice and rank desire

A place for Eros to conspire

 

So we do

Conspire and inflame

Discover thoughts we thought were lost

Discover feelings never named

 

And as the onion sharpens tongue and drives the tear

That tracks my cheek

I feel you so near

Through time and space’s equilibrium

So a wormhole

Must appear

To send you on your way to me

 

 

David Trudel    ©  2012

 

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