T's poem

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Wind smashed the plane from the sky, descending, and my
voice

Sought you,
a prayer I tried to speak as the sky blinked out, my hands

class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt">Clenched like a heart
in my lap, nothing mattering but that once I spoke your name?

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Tonight if I could I would send you a book called
Desire, you have read

All the poems already but the bound book, suspended in my heart
like a totem-

The
blood-red dusk of the room we met where I told you
everything-tonight

 

I would tell you have far I sojourned with you and how
you kept me,

Your
voice answering the phone like a small soft breeze in a flute

class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt">Your hands on my hand
so gently laid and pure, this soul that wandered somewhere

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And then lost you, what I never had &;amp; mourn
now, the words we spoke at dawn?

When I first lost my center, so far ago now, I folded
into myself like a statue, an obelisk

style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt">Quivering sadly and invisibly with
desire, and then we met, you taught me

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt">How nakedly love
threshes the soul, the white fire that cleanses, the red fire that
heats

Until
longing becomes the whole sky the wind the trees the mountains the
rivers

Where I
drank you and thirsted endlessly without any ceasing, sweet taste,
mirage?

 

I wanted to strip my soul and give it to you-and
tonight, still, that you may know

Nothing I have ever felt for you leaves me, there is no
place you can go my heart

Will not follow, if these words find you in the night or at
dawn please know

 

My hand is in your hand, my eyes look in your face, I
touch you, my love, my one?

There is always a time of innocence. There is never a
place.

Every word
I wrote for you is true, Lacan's voice and mine intertwined at
last.