somekind oflove

(pre-face)

in the beginning there was a worda word that sounded and felt largish i stared at it, i gathered it, i loathed it

it was a synonym of youbut it was her. it was spelled her

some kind of love:a collective of poems

(click eye to hear speak)

by b borcoman

understand me,the goal of this is to proceed with carefulto make her unsuspect of my movementsi alert you of these possibilities as if you are watching, as if you can hear me.

there is something i should say i thinkabout the idea of silence a lot. more specifically the entrance of sound inthat silence. so as to create an echo. an echo of her as she drops a piece of cloth

in the face i look her and mouth to please fetch me my personhood. of course she issleeping, though with violence i smirk back. i think about what it’s like to play a tape cassette until it fallsbroken. what the sounds we make sound like.

as in to speak first and understand second or rather to walk up a tree and when feeling its green to understand what down is. my fingertips, this air, with motion i place her hand upon my mouth and what if i leave it there

she says things regarding her own species. how the likelihood of walking up a pair of stairs is higher than walking down. or how the tilt angle of her head when she is making a suggestion is almost always the same. or when she smiles so often and then turns away.

like a bird that crashes itself into a window. that between area which is classified as private. the interim cavity. like a negative side placed next to a positive. as if boundaries and ropes have been put up. not just space rather this intimate distance.

so we open eyes at each other in total darkness and for a moment the separation of bodily apparatus. and then the seeing, the feeling as a feeling:how aloneness a recognition is

for me, it was mid-satisfaction and i was lying on my side attempting the correct position for absolute inquirywhen i noticed my handswere something apart from me.

she was saying up is rather deceiving in that: how is a direction explained other than a finger pointing one way or another. a language, as in the one we might share, is so unnecessarily tossed aside. instead show me up with your motions

this is a test of her limits. i want to know how far she might exceed herself. to feel light and then be given heavy.to smile and go frown in such succession the mouth loses all direction.

similarly, i sit in a room for many hours and make this blinking sort of exercise and then invite her over to share my exultation at conquering the mechanics of face. she comes with a look of envy and says please stay me awhile.

i feel her features to make sure they are still hers. and they are, but my surroundings: how different it is to close the eyes and open them.

like the time i opened the dictionary to word and i thought that was the grandest experienceand then i tried again and then i tried again and it still hasn’t happened. so i guess this constant search for a type of definition

as if an ideal existing within proper containment.as if waking up to the glass of a tall building and understanding its implications.what it might mean to pass through such a surface maybe better to have never known at all.

in this way i make face at her. with my eyelids tied and my lips all curled but nice. my teeth are shattered and pieced together. i look my best for her on purpose.

and then she says open up she says show me how to undo everythingi make shudder sounds with my voice i am thinking about dimensionshow they might be explained

also:sounds resembling silent moviesin which sex is not being made i’m notcertain if there is a correct sound butsomething similar to a cloud passing around a mountain or a breath tryingto be kept in by a various mouth

a pause. a shifting silence. semi-flutter of wings. a build-up so minute in its increments like pulling string out of some cave.

or like her sitting on a lawn and a big school bus skidsto a halt and no one is inside it is just this big thing that ismaking noise like screeching and she is silence. just spectating

this is what i’ve been meaningto talk about. the lapse of time and space occurring during the duration that immediately follows. after she says something and thereis a moment of nothing. and afterness.

i would wish for her to walk forever backwardso i could formulate the origin of her intercepts.where she reversed one way into anotherthe intersplicion of a beginning to end

i would place my plastics around these indiciesand call them possessions. i would take apart my insides so as to remake them.

i mean, if to hear is to somehow notice one’s self,what occurs in this episode without sound.do i render useless

do i walk around in intricacy just to find myself in the same position. and when my mouth movesis it only to hear.

(post-face)so there was her

and now there is a memory of her. an incredible turn.

she became something else. just you now.

this slight change.