The Embrace

follicle flames
cas
ca
ding
down wool and flesh,
tickle the roots,
tickle that external(thick but not impenetrable)epidermis;
but there is no laughter here.
there are no sounds
fated to spread joy
as the(non-existent)waves crash upon
your oratory drum.

but what creates this
hang
ing
stagnation?

perhaps a rough breakage of
of epidermal layers(now lost)as
his footing deceived him
and unwillingly proved
grav
ity;

or perhaps the
un(is it ever accepted?)timely passing
of his childhood memories,
now
laid in the ground with his
once oldest(and dearest)friend;

further still,
perhaps it is the overwhelming(it
bubbles
and froths
and downright oozes)vulnerability
that he has tried to escape
yet strangely enjoys
from this auburn-locked form,
her body encompassing him as
her heart encompasses him;

or, perhaps it is the realization
that his pride in autonomy
has all but crumbled at the simple fact
that
he can no longer be alone
and he can no longer go back
and he can no longer be who he was
because he has let himself fall
and he has let himself feel
and he has let himself know,

but the damnedest thing of it all
is not that she knows him
and it is not that she understands him
and it is not that he allowed all of this to happen,

but it's the fact that he's still alive
and the fact that she revived him
and the fact that she saved him
and, to his
greatest
surprise,

when he thought
himself
dead,

he has fallen
in
love.

Based on the above painting by Edvard Munch, more commonly known for "Scream."