Disruption

Here’s a poem I wrote last night. 

 

Disruption

 

From below, the plunge looks effortless.  Body scaling side of rock, feet pushing off edge of rock, body crashing into the current and searching for the surface.  I am interested in surface tension, the attraction between liquid particles.  I wonder if my fascination alone allows me to walk on water.  Probably not, so now I am faced with negotiating my body up this rock only to return to things sublime. 

 

I reach for your body, fingertips glide across your pale skin (but you are warmth).  I remember how my hands were once expert in their search, but now I am clumsy.  This is a result of a fear that too much will be invested.  I am also afraid that you are not as fascinated with the disruption of surfaces and will carelessly drop stones from the edge.

 

As I stand on the edge, looking down twenty feet to where the waves gently lap down the Gauley, I realize that I incorrectly judged the ease of the jump.  There is only one way – forward.  Nothing prepares you for these moments. 

Like the first kiss, a rush of adrenaline,

an experience I know but have not known with this person,

the one I desire, until this very moment.

 

I have jumped before but did not anticipate the thrill of this.  Feet push and body plummets on the first attempt

just like it should.  Air pushes through lungs but for a moment the organs forget what to do with the rush of oxygen. 

 

My body crashes through the watery surface, disrupting any trace of symmetry.  Thrashing in some obscure direction, my eyes open and sunlight streams from above.

As we sit here, listening to jazz, I want to crash into you to create an image of beauty
unparalleled.