by Paris Armstrong
The sweat at his brow slides down, then up, following touch
Gasps and laughter start and stop haltingly
Quiet now, be quiet. Too loud or they might hear
Her lips purse with great effort, and form a sweat moustache
Air escapes crevices with gauche noises
Everything is covered in sweat
Even the linen, especially the linen
Cells combine and someone 200 miles away declares it life
She shakes, he shakes
They were there, and now they were gone
The past is filmed in sepia
and there’s no care of pain
things happen because they can
and because they haven’t
and because it was all for you
written and dreamed and pondered
of you, for you, by you
but the world isn’t as full
as you once thought
The Meat Interrogates Itself
Closer than imagined, yesterday meets tomorrow,
the space between accelerates, linking joy and sorrow,
In that fleeting moment, we glimpse and lose each other,
unraveling our stories, we seek as we discover.
Awareness ambles gently down the path of time,
lured by distractions, a swift descent we climb,
Yet, you never truly vanish, even as you turn to stone,
thoughts of gods and wheels and farms, and gleaming cellphones shown.
Are we the future you foresaw, or have we strayed far,
blind to the precious gifts we hold beneath the same night’s star?
Do you ponder our existence, as we ponder yours too,
will we neglect to cherish the legacy passed from you?
Paris Armstrong is a young writer and poet with a penchant for procrastination. Born in England, raised in Antigua, and having moved to NYC at a young age, Paris likes to incorporate many different aspects of his identity in his writing. He studies at LaGuardia Community College as a Creative Writing Major.
Image Credit: A.P. Photography, “Romance”, Flickr, CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.