Though it remains unnamed,
it is enough to know
that in the rock and the roll of it,
the losing control of it,
between the hushed ‘fucks’
and the guttural cries,
the gaze exchanged
between unguarded eyes
it is there
‘Love is so short, forgetting is so long’
It’s the not knowing that drags;
an emotional gravity
that skewers us to the earth,
holding our feet in concrete
and our hearts in a dewdrop web
of half truths.
It’s the not knowing that clouds,
that ruins the night sky,
obscuring fractal glitter
with the dust of uncertainty
until we find ourselves unable
to see beyond our own atmosphere.
It’s the not knowing that bites,
sinking its teeth when the sun dips
below the watery horizon
and the beach fire crackles its last,
darkness slipping us deep
beneath its counterpane of sorrow.
It’s the not knowing that slices,
that cuts through us
with the gilded blade of illusion,
leaving us baffled and bereft,
a simple promised truth.