The Edge by Christina Knowles

“The Edge”

woman-on-cliffs-edge

Linear lives stumble past

each other

in blind obedience

to an unknown god—

money, possessions,

success.

Occasionally we meet—

our eyes, our bodies.

Rarely ourselves.

But today I am with you

and your delicate flesh gives way to my touch.

Entangling limbs,

need fuses us together.

Sweat drips like tears down our bodies,

cleansing our souls,

washing away rivers of indifference,

momentarily.

I am connected to you in this instant.

We seem to be one, our souls speaking a secret language.

Occasionally we meet—

our eyes, our flesh.

Sometimes ourselves.

Waves of sensation subside with the tide.

Relief flows evenly across our bodies like summer wind.

I emerge less than whole, transformed;

already retreating into my separate self.

Our bodies touch,

but there are miles between us.

Your heavy weight presses me down

smothering my humanity,

turning me into another

in an endless procession of animal-like

bodies, soulless.

Occasionally we meet—

our eyes, our flesh.

Why not ourselves?

We are separate

until

we once again find that common ground

with each other

or someone else.

This newly born awareness grows

while emotion fades

away—like an old man breathing his last.

Lingering

on the edge of bliss,

on the edge of emptiness

Until that day when we finally meet

Ourselves

–Christina Knowles (1998)

Photo snagged from transparentwithmyself.wordpress.com

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