Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Keeping Score

The day fills up with questions. I rewind and replay conversations. Weigh relationships in the palm of my hand; test for firmness, prod the tender parts. I make a tally. Change my mind. Circle, repeat and adjust. Memories become clearer as they turn into stories, though they stray further from the truth. Everything we believe is fiction, a lie, distorted, uncertain, and unclear. Everything but the beat of a heart, the beat that I can hear if I lay my face on your chest. This beat, and then this one. I can’t say more, I can only chase your pulse.



Written in a similar spirit to The Sound of One Hand Clapping, in  Hurts So Good: Unrestrained Erotica

4 comments:

Jo said...

Nice. How many beats, I wonder, for the blood to come round again, refreshed, reoxygenated, new?

wv: rappepie

Nikki Magennis said...

At the risk of being a smart arse - one.

; )

Jo said...

No Way!

That seems ... impossible to me.

Nikki Magennis said...

Ah, I'm sure it's not medical. I meant it in a metaphorical philospophical kind of a way.