Atheist Hallelujah
Atheist Hallelujah
If I was to say I’d reinvent love, it would be in the realms of your pupils. It would only occur on the piercing dagger of your iris, the one that is bleeding me inside. How can the mere sight of two eyes not belonging to me, how can they force my skin, the thin tissue of my own eyelids, to spread away and welcome, explode into yours?
Every inch of yours upon me, I am most aware of each and every single breath you pronounce, every tiny grasp for air, every delirious, softened moan raising from the paradise of your tongue.
The touch of your body entwined with mine; it is not the touch of a cliché, so prostituted that it pulses vain emotions into me, emotions that everyone is sold into feeling, no your, not touch, not your limbs. Your skin burns me so, and the raspy edges of your fingers, hardened from all the nicotine they’ve held, could skin me raw, leave me sore in their insufferable absence.
Did the blazing tears of my eyes scare you when our lips met? Did you not believe me to be insane and overly obsessed with the mere thought of your love? Did you even begin to comprehend the suffocating meaning of my lips upon yours? The contact, the collision of the mouths we’d never shared, the crash of the saliva that imprisoned me, us? Will I ever get to spell the word “us” and mean it for real?
There was no dusty winds blowing through the woods; there was no chilling breeze freezing my pores, when your infinite palms finally dared to erase all clothing from me; when your life lines slid the fabric lower and lower past my shoulders. There was no itching in my throat, striking from the miles we’d walked upon that place, when your knuckles stroked my neck. When I, after all, half sobbed, half whispered, fully screamed “I love you” there was no howling wolf, or pack of them, ready to terminate us with their fangs, no beast ready to tear our organs, to dig in my lifeless body for my racing heart and chew it away, and if there had been, if there had been wolves there, so what? So what? So what?
My furious teeth punished the flesh on your chest for everything you hadn’t told me, for every smile you hadn’t directed my way, as your arms embraced my cage, embraced everything which I was then, and I was never so real as when I told you I love you. I love you. On the back the psychedelic rock should have overthrown the forest silence; but there was no rock, no remembrance from those years we so adored and blamed for not having owned our birth. No the rock did not blast my groans, my murmurs; it was a rather strange song for us, you the agnostic bastard, me the atheist fucker. But you understood didn’t you? You understood the exact reason why I beloved that song despite believing in a god as much as I believed in any dictator of the world. You understood, and I knew so, it wasn’t necessary for you to actually sing, to actually mumble to the air, to the trees, to the green leaves above us, I didn’t need you to speak it, but god I wanted you to say so, to mumble, Hallelujah.
And the pain all those seconds would later cause, the suffering your hands, your legs, your neckline, your mole, would then cause me. I knew it. Fuck sake if I didn’t know it. The way we existed, the way we managed to exist in that dirt in that fresh, humid soil from all the rains previously fallen, the way we conquered all life in that lost spot of that immense forest, the way we reached for each other and still existed physically, I will never know that way with no men, women, child, poet, or drug. It’s called passion, and its called youth and it won’t repeat itself, never in that same way.
How I pressed my naked body to yours, so close the friction had no place, the warmth of your body was one with mine, any closer we’d had cruised each other, melted into the same piece of nude, bare flesh and sweat that hid nothing from no one. Your eyes penetrating my mind and the whole being I was in between you and myself. My hot frail ear attached to the beat of your heart, your organ of blood, pumping life into me, pumping rhythm into me. I was always arrhythmia; you were always the rhythm I lacked off.
Forgive me for closing my eyes when we finally joined our bodies in the act of sinners, well if your skin inside mine was a sin, then I was Lucifer and believe me when I say I’d never trade the entire heaven for it. Your words, your fucking words, your idiotic remarks that only made a grin reborn into my face, it didn’t matter if I heard you or not. And when you reached your cataclysm, your climax as it’s crassly named, when you reached the absolute bliss of carnal loving, I knew precisely that I wouldn’t ruin nor one second of your time if it was on my hands.
As we lay together fissured by our lips, broken by our sweat, dead by our hearts, I felt gravity squeezing both my brains and my tongue, for I realized what was established from the beginning. Nothing would mean anything after this. Nothing could have changed my mind from the love I professed upon you, but nothing would have cheated me into believing that you felt it to. Nothing could have drugged my mind into believing you would say “Je t’aime, Ich Liebe dich, Ashiteru, Ti amo, Mi aime jou” not in any language of the world, nor in any sign or touch.
Then we were to part in a bus stop, a bleeding bus stop, with the tin light of a just terminated day. The taco local selling shit as meat, the boys and girls flirting like it meant a thing. The gas and smoke from that freaking highway crossing the city, our city our GDL, industrial piss off of the man kind.
There we were with all those chavs, and the filthy man staring at my thighs, and the driver about to start the engine away, hurrying me with lascivious words to get on the bloody bus, what was the look on your eyes
to my statement to my simple, pure request?
“Don’t pretend this meant something to you, and I’ll pretend it didn’t mean something to me”
That strangled look on your eyes puzzled me, but it was a look of care, not of love, not of desire, not of cosmic union, so what did you mean? What did you mean, when you shrugged and looked away, appearing to be distracted, avoiding my eyes, stuffing your hands on your pockets, and you clearly pronounced in our tongue, in our language, in our world. “Te quiero”
So now my arm is hanging from the bus stained tube, fate wouldn’t even grant me a seat for this final scene. Whatever…
Even if this was a self indulged acid trip and I’m perhaps just seizing on the ground with the most lethal OD in town, even so, today, and tonight? Whatever it was, we’ve just reinvented love.
Every inch of yours upon me, I am most aware of each and every single breath you pronounce, every tiny grasp for air, every delirious, softened moan raising from the paradise of your tongue.
The touch of your body entwined with mine; it is not the touch of a cliché, so prostituted that it pulses vain emotions into me, emotions that everyone is sold into feeling, no your, not touch, not your limbs. Your skin burns me so, and the raspy edges of your fingers, hardened from all the nicotine they’ve held, could skin me raw, leave me sore in their insufferable absence.
Did the blazing tears of my eyes scare you when our lips met? Did you not believe me to be insane and overly obsessed with the mere thought of your love? Did you even begin to comprehend the suffocating meaning of my lips upon yours? The contact, the collision of the mouths we’d never shared, the crash of the saliva that imprisoned me, us? Will I ever get to spell the word “us” and mean it for real?
There was no dusty winds blowing through the woods; there was no chilling breeze freezing my pores, when your infinite palms finally dared to erase all clothing from me; when your life lines slid the fabric lower and lower past my shoulders. There was no itching in my throat, striking from the miles we’d walked upon that place, when your knuckles stroked my neck. When I, after all, half sobbed, half whispered, fully screamed “I love you” there was no howling wolf, or pack of them, ready to terminate us with their fangs, no beast ready to tear our organs, to dig in my lifeless body for my racing heart and chew it away, and if there had been, if there had been wolves there, so what? So what? So what?
My furious teeth punished the flesh on your chest for everything you hadn’t told me, for every smile you hadn’t directed my way, as your arms embraced my cage, embraced everything which I was then, and I was never so real as when I told you I love you. I love you. On the back the psychedelic rock should have overthrown the forest silence; but there was no rock, no remembrance from those years we so adored and blamed for not having owned our birth. No the rock did not blast my groans, my murmurs; it was a rather strange song for us, you the agnostic bastard, me the atheist fucker. But you understood didn’t you? You understood the exact reason why I beloved that song despite believing in a god as much as I believed in any dictator of the world. You understood, and I knew so, it wasn’t necessary for you to actually sing, to actually mumble to the air, to the trees, to the green leaves above us, I didn’t need you to speak it, but god I wanted you to say so, to mumble, Hallelujah.
And the pain all those seconds would later cause, the suffering your hands, your legs, your neckline, your mole, would then cause me. I knew it. Fuck sake if I didn’t know it. The way we existed, the way we managed to exist in that dirt in that fresh, humid soil from all the rains previously fallen, the way we conquered all life in that lost spot of that immense forest, the way we reached for each other and still existed physically, I will never know that way with no men, women, child, poet, or drug. It’s called passion, and its called youth and it won’t repeat itself, never in that same way.
How I pressed my naked body to yours, so close the friction had no place, the warmth of your body was one with mine, any closer we’d had cruised each other, melted into the same piece of nude, bare flesh and sweat that hid nothing from no one. Your eyes penetrating my mind and the whole being I was in between you and myself. My hot frail ear attached to the beat of your heart, your organ of blood, pumping life into me, pumping rhythm into me. I was always arrhythmia; you were always the rhythm I lacked off.
Forgive me for closing my eyes when we finally joined our bodies in the act of sinners, well if your skin inside mine was a sin, then I was Lucifer and believe me when I say I’d never trade the entire heaven for it. Your words, your fucking words, your idiotic remarks that only made a grin reborn into my face, it didn’t matter if I heard you or not. And when you reached your cataclysm, your climax as it’s crassly named, when you reached the absolute bliss of carnal loving, I knew precisely that I wouldn’t ruin nor one second of your time if it was on my hands.
As we lay together fissured by our lips, broken by our sweat, dead by our hearts, I felt gravity squeezing both my brains and my tongue, for I realized what was established from the beginning. Nothing would mean anything after this. Nothing could have changed my mind from the love I professed upon you, but nothing would have cheated me into believing that you felt it to. Nothing could have drugged my mind into believing you would say “Je t’aime, Ich Liebe dich, Ashiteru, Ti amo, Mi aime jou” not in any language of the world, nor in any sign or touch.
Then we were to part in a bus stop, a bleeding bus stop, with the tin light of a just terminated day. The taco local selling shit as meat, the boys and girls flirting like it meant a thing. The gas and smoke from that freaking highway crossing the city, our city our GDL, industrial piss off of the man kind.
There we were with all those chavs, and the filthy man staring at my thighs, and the driver about to start the engine away, hurrying me with lascivious words to get on the bloody bus, what was the look on your eyes
to my statement to my simple, pure request?
“Don’t pretend this meant something to you, and I’ll pretend it didn’t mean something to me”
That strangled look on your eyes puzzled me, but it was a look of care, not of love, not of desire, not of cosmic union, so what did you mean? What did you mean, when you shrugged and looked away, appearing to be distracted, avoiding my eyes, stuffing your hands on your pockets, and you clearly pronounced in our tongue, in our language, in our world. “Te quiero”
So now my arm is hanging from the bus stained tube, fate wouldn’t even grant me a seat for this final scene. Whatever…
Even if this was a self indulged acid trip and I’m perhaps just seizing on the ground with the most lethal OD in town, even so, today, and tonight? Whatever it was, we’ve just reinvented love.