Reflection/Echo/Self

I co-wrote this piece, it is not mine alone.

“I am always told how empty I am, described as a desperate man always seeking water.
Maybe because I seek not the drink but the reflection.” ~Narcissus

But he too was seeking more than the quench of thirst, perhaps the quiet of the soul.
Seeking to see what was and not what could be as I see now.
My antithesis, not a reflection, not what I could be (a mirage) what I am not and can never be.
So I fall in love with the flesh of what is not me. It is familiar and yet strange.

Like an echo

Far from the original but I can recognize the sound.
It reverberates, I feel it not inside but in the ground.
Love penetrates from the bottom and I feel it
reaching to the paradox on the other side.

I know he feels it too because he smiles.

He smiles because he is amused,
amused by me,
amused by himself,
amused by the idea of self
and how we cling to the separation of what we are
from what they are or what
we could be, if only we could be one.

Sense of Self

It permeates my thoughts
and seeps out of my flesh,
he can smell it on me
and I imagine he can taste it as he licks my flesh
when we are in bed together,
I wonder what I taste like to him, this sense of who I am
that isn’t who I am, because I wear the scent
to give me a sense of what I am supposed to be.
I wear a mask of thought,
he devours me
and I let him,
not because I want to be consumed,
so that I can feel him with me
so that I can be a part of him
and he can know me,
so that I can know myself
so that I can not be alone.

He is a solid wall, that I bounce off of
and he is the mirror
that reflects my soul
and gives me form that my own being hides.
He is safety in the emptiness of all that is around
and my thoughts give him form,
just as I need that form to think,
we are symbiotic,
when all else is parasitic,
and I have been sucked dry
and left alone in a valley
where the moon does not shine
and sound does not move.

I have my mirror
and gaze upon my form,
and see within the image
me

the absolute form of me

not a shadow
or an echo
or a concept
or an ideal

it is simply me
and I am all that is
and he
cannot be my mirror
when I am all
that this mirror can hold

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