And my ceilings went on forever. You could lose your head and kite. You could fall in love with distance and grow lonely at the same time.
I could never be divided. I wanted you wholly. I wanted to lick your open spaces, your paranoia, and the damp salt behind each knee.
Come, let me charm you in my whisper gallery where I can hear you breathe from the other side of the moon and when you moan, each window moans too. My sounds once delighted - triangle, pentagon, icosahedron, ding-dong, I miss you.
The front door, so difficult to open, meant please and stay, love insulating our private balloon.
from Fields, Ribbons, Folds: Somatic Landscapes for Zaha Hadid by Hadara bar-Nada