Hanging from a hook under my heart; a goldfish in a bag from a fairground in my teens. If always it was there, and since then I learned its words, or it grew in response, I don't know. It makes no difference that hormones settled. It pays no mind to victories since. I sit here and its tail flutters, uncoded in my blueprints: the miracle balance of bone and muscle. She tells me it's a construct of wayward associations but my truth is my life and I'm here because I lived it. So take my truth and take my past and leave a child. And I'd love to loosen but the handrail I've warmed so nicely. And I guess that it's true what they say about change, and age. But I'm not living enough for one and my orange friend makes two. So he flutters; and my world shakes.
You could judge, we all do, but you'll probably be wrong. I judged. I got it wrong. Flaws make the shape. Learning is imperfect, classrooms aren't. Dreams make the life, make the path. Wisdom is earned. Find trouble, look for the wisdom. Not surely, but bruises are brown, purple, red, and yellow. Winning is just golden.
Laughter, giggling or chuckling. Belly laughs and throwing back my head to hear my scarred lungs wheeze. I forgot you used to do that. I've never met a woman who makes me laugh as much as you, and you would probably laugh that off. Your body language is a walk along a beach, in the sunset, with a crowd of people smiling and laughing. Wearing turmeric coloured clothing and tripping on the sand with a drink in hand. I do not see a beautiful woman, I see a beautiful existence and a gravity, a current that you pick others up in. I'm sorry things have been so bad.
Gingy, do not move. You are my purring paperweight. It is nine thirty four and all I can hear are the clocks. I stroke your head as my love rolls over. Your eyes say 'steady' as the bed rocks and the covers are tugged. I stroke the back of your head and your ears twitch. You purr and I am grateful, I cannot remember the last time I was so clear headed at the start of a weekend. You are my totem. I will use you to anchor myself in what others may do. Whilst you are here I can lie to my self. You are my excuse to assume a position of leisure when all my instincts usually say is work. Achieve. Create... Get up. Do stuff. Be prolific. Death awaits and life is always ticking and tocking. But I stretched. And you turned around and jumped off.