Hard Line by Stephen Mead

Sleep like breeze, breath upon breath:
the haggard clench of the face
now the rain-lit blur of someone
behind a windshield, warm there
in that darkness…

So you fold me against you& I, tough
as velvet, partially long to be steel, nomadic,
that rigid Achilles bred to believe touch is weak.
Of course I know better, know that such logic
causes & approves of war, louses up spirits
& decays, a gradual nova…

Still, at odd moments, who does not wish
to be somebody else, thinking it safer, more
gracious, able to take the hard line of distance
& yet find intimacy sure as life in just water,
wind, light?

Chances are, underneath, that somebody
might long to be either of us.
Chances are as you hold me
if I speak my weakness
you might later use it as sabotage.

Oh alright.  I accept this & make sure I speak
anyway, though perhaps nothing but sleeping,
breathing here, close, says enough.

Stephen Mead
A resident of NY, Stephen Mead is a published artist, writer, maker of short-collage films and sound-collage downloads. If you are at all interested and get the time, Google Stephen Mead and the genres of either writing, art, or both, for links to his multi-media work.
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