Cassette

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As she pulled the bloodied rabbit from the houses-cat’s claws, I found myself quoting Grant from Jurassic Park, saying “He doesn’t want to be fed, he wants to hunt.”

 

“The rabbit deserves to live too,” she replied, as the cat sauntered away.

 

When the sky became gauzy and impermanent we wove spiderwebs into crowns:

 

     Kissing in the rain is cold.

   

     Sex in the shower is difficult.

 

     And rarely do enemies

     become lovers.

 

Evening-to-night, the darkness pulled us, like a start-studded esophagus contracting, a small flap of tissue folded over the voice box. 

 

     Orgasmic vocalizations are so often

     cartoonish and  overdone.

 

     I’ve never enjoyed life like those in

     beer commercial seem to.

 

We come with certain assumptions, downloaded like bomb making instructions, encrypted ideas, things that we can’t tell anyone.

 

I don’t know how this happened, how I arrived on a fully-furnished planet:

 

Fruit on tree limbs, plucked and squeezed.

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Animals breathing like I breathe, this air, the only thing thats free.

Even now, I remember skateboarding, AOL IM and flipping through used cassette tapes at the pawn show.

 

You spoke for me when I couldn’t.

 

A collection of memories, a cadre of digital friends. 

 

Either way, we lived as as if everyday was earmarked as: to be continued.