the silence of blood is like going backwards in a song. the silence of steps resembles two hands placed side by side. blood is not gushing forth, blood like a friend, the voice of a soprano heard from the outside. others are full of expectations. even love is expected to gush forth. just like blood love shall not gush forth. love is swallowed and there’s no pride in it. so don’t march. there’s no glory in it if it doesn’t gush forth. because love has nothing to do with blood.
and I’m so afraid. I’m afraid that if I love you blood will gush forth. so I’ll have to look somewhere else when you pass by me. I’ll have to be one with the silence of blood that doesn’t gush forth and I’ll listen to our song backwards again. and think that you are there.
out of this I shall rise like a saint. my feet as dense as the water though solitude won’t make you virtuous like a well-kept virgin. solitude grows with the stillness of the idle. and tomorrow you will push me into a corner of the eye. and I’ll place my hands side by side begging for love to gush forth. and you will be helped by other thoughts to pass by me.