“She is Motion. I Gravity.”

By Ron Stultz

1 January 1981

Want to draw first

and then.....

write.

Concise machine movement

on some laser drill.

Can you feel the steel,

the cold,

the light in my eyes?

Loving you

but no longer in love with you,

the fantasy

has run its solar cycle.

Not staying too long,

moving on to the next,

she only has time

to tell….

if she was right......To leave.

“Stay,” he asks

but she’s already off

to the next stop,

the next port of call.

An orbit about the sun

just completed,

they tell me.

We live moving

there is no doubt.

Like the lunge

to melt the two together

only building the strength

and frequency.

A mind fuck?

Maybe….

Around the corner,

inside your dreams,

on the glance of a stranger,

in the morning silence,

before leaving for work.

Coupling affects

some times

too powerful

to be enjoyable.

“Hello!”

“Get it right the first time

and them make it last.”

Will you or won’t you?

Like little spoons at the ice cream store

for samples,

sure you try before you buy

and taste a  lot,

cleaning the palette in between.

Of course, you are right.

How do you do it?

Know so much

being so young?

I know you are special

an event, trip.

Wish I could beg you

to complete one of mine

But the asking is beyond me.

And I know it would not be

the cap, true cap

of containment.

Closing up one thing

and letting out another.

Like moving caps

from bottle to bottle,

one or more

always open.

Which one is open

and needs closing?

Lust.

A therapy of afternoon delight

out side the bounds.

Expecting it?

Can only have it come to you?

I bet it’s true.

Hopeless then, I know.

As I can never ask gravity's pull.