Recounting the times my heart skipped a beat by the sea (the longitude of limerence)
Puer Deorum
The first time I saw the ocean in the flesh
ripe and gearing up, rough and ready
wobbling through, but steady
we circled back home with chills
impenetrable through thick skin,
hot blooded feeling
armfuls of rocks which I no longer possess
dispersed within small movements
skipping stones through each home
if there was a game
for how many times the beats skip through your heart
would we tie?
how water holds memories
And floods the same landscapes
filling each crevice and crack left inside
the internal geoscape formed through
each tectonic movement
and each (heart)break
rippling movement—strangely comforting
to know we can never step into the same river twice
but when we’re living in the present
The sensations become softer
And the future is undetermined
the moon a pearl from the oyster
That moment you wake up
and you don’t see your surroundings,
when you’re flooded with reminders that the present is fleeting
The crossed paths no longer conjunctive
the heart swells with the passing of each terrain
the surface a cartography of stretch marks
from inflating/deflating in self imposed abruption
can you read this map?
blinking longer and slower to make sure,
the light was graded
golden green like a dream sequence
red strobes under eyelids,
ruptured vision
no signposts to where we’re heading
is it high velocity living or a pitfall of lucid dreaming?
because our hands are tied—
instead—
purple trails, small bumps, insect bites
scrambling for solutions
searching in replacement for one sharp pinch
to enforce an alternative reality, a speculative fiction
while the heart is skipping and swelling
and the chest is sinking and tightening
ticking like a clock
awaiting the moment that it glitches
when it skips a beat and freezes
to prove that I can stop time
and wait for you to catch up
to feel the same vibrations,
each rock in the road,
each bump in your path and defy the
longitude and latitude of each bordered (time)zone
of this celestial sphere
AUTHOR BIO
AUTHOR BIO
AUTHOR BIO
AUTHOR BIO
| Creating continuums, cycles of movement and visions, distorted mirrors of earthly patterns. Refracting, retracing, rekindling memories, blurred like the recounting of a lucid dream of which the narrative was dug up from the subconscious mind. Slow but ephemeral like the transition of the sun over the shore disappearing before we know it while we gaze out onto the horizon. An illusion; enticement - the moment we scramble to memorise the moments fire and water were contiguous, entrancing, colours swept over by the darkness, an aftermath of the waves swallowing a star, caressing then absorbing our environments like a crescendo that peaks like a mountain - enigmatic but constantly present, the possibility of a threat to stability (preconceptions) looming, but ever-present. Puer Deorum is an artist born and bred in London. Puer’s poem, “sun beams [spun into burnt sugar]” previously appeared in Small World City: Issue 02. // instagram puerdeorum.com |
Recounting the times my heart skipped a beat by the sea (the longitude of limerence)
Puer Deorum
HEADER PHOTO: ลุงบุญมีระลึกชาติ
// Kick the Machine © 2010
poetry, may 24
The first time I saw the ocean in the flesh
poetry, may 24
The first time I saw the ocean in the flesh
ripe and gearing up, rough and ready
wobbling through, but steady
we circled back home with chills
impenetrable through thick skin,
hot blooded feeling
armfuls of rocks which I no longer possess
dispersed within small movements
skipping stones through each home
if there was a game
for how many times the beats skip through your heart
would we tie?
how water holds memories
And floods the same landscapes
filling each crevice and crack left inside
the internal geoscape formed through
each tectonic movement
and each (heart)break
rippling movement—strangely comforting
to know we can never step into the same river twice
but when we’re living in the present
The sensations become softer
And the future is undetermined
the moon a pearl from the oyster
That moment you wake up
and you don’t see your surroundings,
when you’re flooded with reminders that the present is fleeting
The crossed paths no longer conjunctive
the heart swells with the passing of each terrain
the surface a cartography of stretch marks
from inflating/deflating in self imposed abruption
can you read this map?
blinking longer and slower to make sure,
the light was graded
golden green like a dream sequence
red strobes under eyelids,
ruptured vision
no signposts to where we’re heading
is it high velocity living or a pitfall of lucid dreaming?
because our hands are tied—
instead—
purple trails, small bumps, insect bites
scrambling for solutions
searching in replacement for one sharp pinch
to enforce an alternative reality, a speculative fiction
while the heart is skipping and swelling
and the chest is sinking and tightening
ticking like a clock
awaiting the moment that it glitches
when it skips a beat and freezes
to prove that I can stop time
and wait for you to catch up
to feel the same vibrations,
each rock in the road,
each bump in your path and defy the
longitude and latitude of each bordered (time)zone
of this celestial sphere
AUTHOR BIO
AUTHOR BIO
AUTHOR BIO
AUTHOR BIO
| Creating continuums, cycles of movement and visions, distorted mirrors of earthly patterns. Refracting, retracing, rekindling memories, blurred like the recounting of a lucid dream of which the narrative was dug up from the subconscious mind. Slow but ephemeral like the transition of the sun over the shore disappearing before we know it while we gaze out onto the horizon. An illusion; enticement - the moment we scramble to memorise the moments fire and water were contiguous, entrancing, colours swept over by the darkness, an aftermath of the waves swallowing a star, caressing then absorbing our environments like a crescendo that peaks like a mountain - enigmatic but constantly present, the possibility of a threat to stability (preconceptions) looming, but ever-present. Puer Deorum is an artist born and bred in London. Puer’s poem, “sun beams [spun into burnt sugar]” previously appeared in Small World City: Issue 02. // instagram puerdeorum.com |