holding you through the apocalypse

we're giving it some careful thought. 
earl grey afternoons and i sleep in late.
i found a new chamber within my chest 
just beneath my heart 
it houses the part of me that is 
railing against the tide which tugs
all of these natural disasters 
into action.


holding you are holding me through
the apocalypse. 
i'm gazing impotently at this cartouche 
its inscrutable hieroglyphs 
could be thick on the tongue 
like a lead coin or smoke 
like the ashes in Portia's throat.


i am knitting a shawl to keep 
the naked body warm. 
once i spoke of a jaundiced mind
as if it were not mine.
i was simply in wait.


Shiva moves in her sleep.
for nourishment I have chiefly been
choosing olives dusky purple and black as 
leaking tar. fermented tea. i do feel
like Portia some times.


i think that a facet within me 
longs to move like a shadow
but i am cumbersome flesh and heavy hair.
i can nearly hear a distant vacuum 
some moments,


when i am alone.
yet you are
holding i am holding you through 
the apocalypse. on this bed.
if ever i am sought 
there i'll be.