quinta-feira, 5 de março de 2015

Text for Tired Eyes

Tonight my love there is something we must try
so reach your hand through the sheets and
squeeze tight to my fingers.   Tonight my love
we will lie flat on our stomachs and press our
chests into the bed beneath us, tonight we
will pretend the box springs are microphones and we
will record, once and for all and in one triumphant take,
the symphony of our sleeping.
It will start small with only the drums of our
heartbeats echoing through the audience of these
pillows and sheets atop us.  Soon, if the night
and the stars will witness this concert, if they
stay still enough, they will hear the soft chorus
of my breath being joined by yours and the drumbeats
that started off separate, joining into one beat,
only louder, one beat, only slower.
They will listen for the sound of strings as your
legs rub against one another and the cello sobbing
as your feet make their way through the slumber
to rub up against mine.  The long notes of long sighs
and the soft cymbal crash when my lips find your lips
with eyes shut tight and the fog of exhaustion
muddling the lyrics we whisper to one another
over the music we’re making.  I can almost hear
the notes our fingertips play as they curl, one by
one by one onto the backs of each others hands.
How dare we grow familiar with the empty space
in the empty bed when there is so much melody waiting
to be made? How dare we abandon the song that is created
when wet pillows are finally dry and
the perfect pitch you make before you roll over rings
through the amphitheater of this room.
Tonight my love we will add an entire bar of silence
into the center of our movement.  We will let our
fingers rest, place these instruments at our sides
and let only the sound of our audience moving slightly
around our bodies echo around the walls.  The sheets
rustling, the feathers shifting inside the down
and our heads sinking deeper into our pillows, these
sounds will scream into the inky darkness around us.
Only when we are convinced that the silence has
resonated long enough will I let my heart drum roll
across the mattress and wrap you up inside it.
This is the symphony of our sleeping, the timbre of
longing and a calm that is only created by us and
plays every night of every week, every week of
every long and winding year. Lean your head close to mine
and listen my love, listen as we conduct each other
in pieces, small and delicate pieces while we race
towards dreams.  Listen for the music swelling when
we dream together and hear the song as we are composed
in whole.  Watch as we, horizontal and clinging, raise
our sleeping hands into the sky and begin our hands
dancing with directions to the covers and our legs
beneath them.

- Tyler Knott Gregson

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