i am so fucking lost.
like a book you read in reverse.
i thought i understood it
that i could grasp it
but i didn’t, not really
only the smudgeness of it.
the pink slippered all-containered
semi-precious eagerness of it.
i didn’t realise it would sometimes be more than whole
that the wholeness was a rather luxurious idea
because it’s the halves that halve you in half.
about the in between bits.
the gory bits of you,
and gory bits of me.
i want to do laps around the stem and then inhale deeply and dive down to the bottom the jar and then let myself float to the surface.
Impressions, Scout Paré-Phillips (2011)