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of an intended life |
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Chapter: “The Musical Term for the Process by
which Out-of-phase Elements Slowly but Deliberately Come into Synchrony” |
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We’ve been walking for hours in parks
and alleys and the perimeters of churches – so engrossed that I forget
the sky is grey. When I glimpse carnations in the florist’s
dumpster, I hoist myself up to excavate; you take a bouquet of wilted pink
roses. I tease out the best carnation… reach
through your broken rear window… and plant it with your roses. You pluck a rose and place it where
the carnation had been. Then we’re embracing and my hands still
hold our salvaged flowers – fragrant, beautiful, and endearingly flawed
– and in your touch is all the fragile glory of the stained glass and
the wilting rose and the cut lawn at our feet – and there’s divinity in
our intuitive sensuality. Hold me; god, just hold me. Don’t let go. Please don’t let me go. |
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