A Half Eaten Pear

You left a half eaten pear on the nightstand and, in the morning, it was beginning to brown with decay, like our stay. You looked out the window. The sun on your moonlight face lit the inexplicable way that you shine in the world while I considered the fate of half eaten pears. Half a pear a part of you, playing its role in stoking the fire. The other left to rot. We linger awhile, held in the delicate crease between coming and going.

Outside, people are crying because love keeps falling apart and their doctors found cancerous tumors on their lungs, next to their hearts, and they all are dressing for funerals, wondering in vague ways why they continue to do the things they do. All the kids lost all their mothers in all the grocery stores. All the farmers lost their crops. The cops handcuff confused and crying hopeless people. Everywhere, there are wails and shrieks. Endless grief. Unsuspecting animals dart into the street.

But inside, you and I are kissing, soft and slow, abiding in the faith that the gentleness of kissing will somehow save the world. Soon, it will be time to go.

Comments

beautiful and sad, i can so relate.

BHJ, this post will again make you legion among your many fans.

Also, I bet that you the type of lover that women never forget...even years later.. even if it was just one weekend.

We've all had those lovers..that have inspired us do things like press leaves into old books at a page that reminds us of a fleeting moment...so that we can find them years later on a sunny day, and smile knowing that only they (and you!) know about the memory.

also, I bet that I should re-read my comments before hitting "create post" for anygrammatical errors.....*le sigh*

Don't go.

love.

You have the most amazing view of life. The beauty must be excruciating.

Half-eaten pears are so much better than half-smoked cigarettes.

with pears, as with love, it's all about the timing...the window of opportunity for perfect ripeness is a narrow and elusive one.

Being aware or sensitive or empathic of bad things does not mean I cannot feel what stirs inside of me. It spins and spins whether I mourn or grieve or love or lust or all at the same time. I have learned that I do not have to ration my emotions based on current events.

Oh my.

Abiding in the time to go. Thank you.

this swept me away to a snowy West Virginia morning. it smelled of lemongrass and want.

The gentleness of kissing - among other inconsequential but huge things - does indeed save the world, every single day.

beautiful

Those three, short paragraphs are pretty damned close to perfect.

These words take me back to a time when I immersed myself in the Griffin and Sabine Trilogy, and Out of Africa.

Whatever work you need to do to rewrite the novel, is what you should be doing. Later this evening, my husband will no doubt send his thanks for this.

This weblog is being featured on Five Star Friday - http://www.schmutzie.com/fivestarfriday/2011/5/27/five-star-fridays-151st-edition-is-brought-to-you-by-woody-a.html

This made me want to kiss somebody for the first time in a long ass time. Well done, butthole. ;)

(I've never written "ass" and "butt", much less the sadly crass "butthole" in the same comment before. I'm not apologizing so much as sitting here wondering what in the hell has happened to me.)

so so lovely.

I think that it's words put in just the right places like the exquisite way you do that will save the world....that, and gentle kissing. Thanks for this. Rapture....of the non Harold Camping type.

Lovely. This is my first time here, but I'll be back.