An attraction deeper than the shape of skin that raises toy soldiers to attention
A connection overflowing from the dopamine receptors of the brain
A reason to feel pain, a reason to ache for the possession
of ones obsession. A reason to bleed until one is bloodless, knowing for the first time how the word “red” does not do it justice.
It’s just this when we try to hold it. It burns when we mold it and never quite fits
It never quite fills and yet somehow spills over and over
Breaking ventricles, inspiring the firing of a heart made of clay
Until one day after bowing and breaking so many times heart ache means awaking
Shaking loose powdered brick left from so many attacks
This aortic valve decorated by cracks
It beats now more slowly and has a weakened frame
And is still home to Rome all the same
But now Roma can flow freely through
We always knew. Open eyes. Open heart. Open mind.
We are one.
Every color. Every sweet sound. Every symptom of beauty.
Floating on forever into our own conscious oblivion.
Words relative to these bodies cannot begin to describe the life, the whole divinity infinitely wrapping us in tears of elation that fall from the sky to which we may be blind but have never been strangers. And with this prayer, “Si Roma”, we awake to a world of no fear, no pain, only the game. And it is time to run. Blue 3 smell of gun powder floats in the air. And palpitations sustain this trivial venture of pain and pleasure.