The Most Beautiful Bitter Fruit

After sundown, before sleeping, I am the worst of me. I am a mess of these Old themes
And the murmur of half-dreams whisper seductively and
Stage scenes
It’s fear fiction, these visions, caught somewhere between delusion and prophesy
What I haven’t done, what I’ve wanted to, and what I fear you have
Becomes reality here

Bright lights in the young night keep to the beat
A classic party scene, crowded and interesting
No love, no life, no history
Just touch, just chemistry, just
A roaring undercurrent simple and sensory
Young bodies, warm skin, perfect symmetry and
It’s a moment, harmless. It’s energy
It’s like medicine
It’s self-discovery

See, all the secrets I keep, why are they secrets?

It’s only temporary, that fleeting feeling of warmth
Just a flash before the line gets blurry
Between a longing for more than what the body wants now and
What the body wants now more than anything
Was it integrity that kept my hands to myself or
Just the thought of getting too far ahead of you?
Was it that I got too tired of the consequence?
Or was I just scared?

I only know I never wanted to get left behind

No pauses, not a second guess
First a swaying then a stumble then a swagger
They’re just movements towards feeling. It doesn’t matter
Neither hesitates to carry on a kind of energy
Sweat and block out everything to
Find every aperture and compel the animal parts
Fan flames, taste fruit, taste bitter fruit
Just trying to learn how all the wires in the body work
Just trying to feel it out, it’s like medicine
Trap the healing in whatever bed they end up in

I want to feel it out. I want to know how it works
I want to know if it was worth it to worry
About the ghosts I feared would haunt the memory
About the damage that I’m sure the fear has done to me now
I want to know what it is in me that won’t follow through
Those nights the instinct takes a hold of me and pushes too
Maybe it’s only that I’ve never gotten over you

Or am I still scared?

I see the church steps, a vision. Is there fiction in this one too?
It’s true, I’ve made a tale of it here, still, it’s a little unclear who’s been haunting who
And time can be such a funny thing, always moving to the future
Glorifying the past and amplifying the pain in frames and glass
So was our touch half as sacred as I’ve made it seem
Or just another fabrication of a half-dream?
Just those chemicals, the adolescent love
Just us trying to grasp onto meaning
Onto a purpose
Onto a sense that
Something spiritual releases when the feeling hits

And when the feeling hits

And in that moment sparks and harps play out
A sweeping melody through fog and fantasy
And in that moment there’s an honesty instinctive and pure but
It departs like it came, rapid and bearing no more
Than fleeting ecstasy of natural harmony
They fear the notes being played and try to sing along
Don’t be ashamed, be free to the feeling. Don’t be ashamed, keep feeling
But find it: a body that makes sense

I’ve felt it