Herban Poetry

Magnetism in Tomorning

 

 You told me that you wrote a piece about magnetism.

And now, as I lie on this couch, I’m wandering lost through my wondering thoughts. It’s early. Or late? It’s that time where early morning and late nights blur together and I’m left questioning constants. Tomorning.

What is time?, what’s the point?, all that philosophical jazz

But tomorning none of that passes my stream of consciousness.

It's the time of the day/night/week/hour again, where my brain turns treacherous and conjures thoughts of love forgoing the usual and lecherous.

I’m not thinking of your breasts, or your ass, or even that cute way you moan my name when we’re…wait—now I’m thinking about it. But even now, not in the unattached, friends-with-benefits way that seems to benefit us both more than actual relationships.

Because let’s be honest. We don’t fall. We plunge into a canyon of love as deep as the place in my mind where these thoughts ought to reside, neither of us with any flying apparatuses, teleportation type of magic, or even a flimsy mattress to cushion our plummet. So with nothing else to hold us up but ourselves

We hit rock bottom. Hard. And since we’re both shattered and broken, neither of us are there to pick up the pieces.

I know, you know. We both know this. We’ve lived it a thousand times, and a million more in dreams. But please, if you get a chance, could you give my brain a call—no a text—no a voicemail leaving your name and number at the beep? Then, whenever it gets like this with the nighttime sun creeping through the blinds blinding it from thinking, it can play back your message and remember the last time it broke and how it’s still missing pieces.

Who am I kidding? Even now as I type this, I’m more than sure that I can’t fight this. My stream of consciousness is polluted with every book, shirt, or wrapper from every piece of candy you’ve ever given me. The build-a-Bear you got me for Christmas floats above the water, a constant reminder of how bad of a gift it was, and how I loved it like it was a new bong. Splashes and bubbles arise as salmon, swimming upstream against the flow, zip in and out of the water only visible for a second.

But in that second, I can see that each of them has your face. It sounds disgusting, your face on a fish body? But somehow, you even pull off scales.

You told me you wrote a piece about magnetism, and I don’t know if this is a byproduct of me having that knowledge, divine intervention, or just a poem type thingy. What I do know is, I’m lying here on a couch, and now it’s morning.

And I’m thinking of you. And magnetism. And how much the fall hurts. But it’s/I’m always attracted back to you.