***
I run to you until I trip on silence…
My rivers flow into you until you choke.
Your mouth takes no more, you gurgle.
Sheets are wet.
… You enter me, again.
My scream fades into a whisper,
Lingers in the fog, mutates into nothingness.
Nothing is new.
… Everything has been.
Repeat. The fire turns to ashes. Love to pain.
Who am I in this labyrinth of questions?
A sigh, a comma.
… Breath aborted.
Lost in my own inflammation of the senses.
So senseless.
… Feelings? Nonsense.
To fuck, to own, to release.
… Repeat.
Until you trip on silence.
(c) Vica Miller
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***
Of future, do not speak.
Don’t ask or plan or wonder,
Don’t envision.
It is a flighty bird that no one’s seen,
Impossible to catch,
It calls you.
You want to see it but I beg you:
Close your eyes.
And stay with me today. No need to look,
Just feel.
The unity.
My breath is hot,
My mouth on your temple.
My hand is light, it’s holding yours –
Forever.
We have a future; that I know.
Trust me.
This notion, small yet grand, is all we need.
The bird is ours. It called us.
We will follow.
But please don’t tame the future,
set it free.
We shall be found there, soon.
And until then –
my name is love.
I found you.
I’ve come to stay.
Just hold me.
(c) Vica Miller
Vica Miller Literary Salons 