Light leaks like water
dripping from the faucet.
You called me baby
before you really knew me
and stopped calling at all,
Light lingers in quite corners
like memories that refuse to flicker,
not acknowledging that the night
We pour over each other
like liquid on a perched desert,
sucking sustenance from substance,
leaching life from any length,
I dived deep down to the bottom
and found only a drought
drowning on the ocean floor.
Were you the desert or the drought?
Was I the ocean or merely drowning?
Light lifts the illusions
we sleep upon beneath the darkness,
when everything is possible
and no one ever parts.
I am not one part us,
I am not one part you,
I am not one or the other,
I am the I that was your baby.
I was light, you said in the midst
of so much weight but you remained
light on love, regardless.
Light leaks like dripping water
from a faucet
onto the broken plates and half eaten hopes
that cannot be either washed or erased.
Light is too light to lift the stains
from the remains of what began
with the words
I want to drown in your eyes.
Light frequently floods
the flaccid lies we feed ourselves
just so we can get from day to night.
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
This is a re-post