Granular (NaPoWriMo 2019 – Day 12)

We think ahead and live behind, whistling our broken music, succeeding to fail the moment with our self-fulfilling prophesies. I can taste the vinegar in fruit before it ever blooms. Have I doomed myself to a life of sour grapes? “Live in the moment”, they say. But each moment recoils in the vibrating brane of its own forever now. Dimensions of time overlap and interweave confounding our attempts to conceive and confine them. Taunting us with tangibility. Our footprints fading in the dunes with the gust of a caprice whose lion body is capped by the false face of Calvino’s moon. Oh the moon, the moon… that same Cheshire Cat moon who never once swooned under his own spell, but often howls on evenings like this. On nights when the world holds its breath beneath the sway of eternity’s kiss. On nights when I lay in this hard bed and feel myself softening as I pray for your hands on my breasts, for my chest to cave under your touch, the fathom of your deep scooping love out with every tidal surge, my heart’s red seeds slipping through your fingertips like grains of sand in the blind hour’s glass, knowing you’re my end and my beginning, that the future has devoured the past.