Somewhere with you (finished)

“Thoughtful now, counting the permeations of dust fall as they land, softly on my table. It’s a transitive relationship, the one between you and I. We will be the ‘greater than’ and ‘equal too’ inhabitants of our Martian planet.”
The lush surfaces (as I said) are defiled with dust and rot, just the way I like them. You seem to prefer the vintage of a pencil pot. “It rubs out” you say, ink just stains and overflows. Before you know, it will run into the vantage point of yesterday. A portrait hangs on the wall, a face so logical. I like Renaissance, you like Victorian. You told me you don’t believe in romance and that art is all below the surface, full of symbols. You pout, and shuffle, and so elegantly. Your artistry yourself-But of course, that’s what I’d say (You’d say).

“Thoughts are intermingled when two might spend too much time- together, alive” – We walk together, talk together, fall in line, separately. I’ll talk about dreams and the future; I heard Disney wanted to build the perfect society. You told me that. Of course, you also told me... “That’s a pile of crap” just like the Louvre and the Inca gold, no benefit except “To be loved, alone”. We sit sometimes in the study, reading our respective literatures and talking, quietly. I find myself thinking rather cynically and feeling alone...rather, you’re sitting next to me, but it’s like, between us there’s a shutter and it’s closed.

“The night is a vigil on its own.” Lethargy and uncollected thoughts swim my mind... Open, Closed. I’ll read Wilde as you’ll read Darwin; and its funny how, for me, to read that Art is useless but for admiring just makes it mean more. I guess that’s the distinction of our personality. I guess I’m more stuck in the mirror than you. In my openness and ulterior motives, in some respects, I’m wounded and blue nerved, perhaps weak. You’re more stuck in a world view than anything else; the way people dress and present themselves is all just animal to you. I know though, maybe the world never changes (that’s what you’d say): “We’ll anchor down, start anew. I’ll paint you, and you’ll draw me.”

“New World- big horizon
Open your eyes and see it’s true
New World- across the frightening
Waves of blue”
–
We sit
Cross legged, in the night;
We’re both cold, looking down from the cliff edge. Your hands are carving, subtly, gently with a stone on the rock face, Asceplius’ sign. A crude message to the sea, we need healing. I’m sitting, likewise. Watching you in soliloquy as your hair blows softly in the breeze. I'm behind you, your silhouette in this darkness... You’re a tinder stick. You whisper. Humming the lyric of perpetuity down the waters depth...
*A memory*
flavoured by reflection.

“Here you leave today and enter the world of yesterday, tomorrow and fantasy.”-Back in our tenement hut, the dawn breaks. Light seeps through a makeshift fabric curtain. You smile beside me and whisper, kissing my forehead “Maybe romance does exist”.
It’s kind of funny. In the realms we both know best we can flourish. Opposite poles that can’t help but attract balance each other out. I know though, maybe the world never changes (At least, that’s what you’d say).