In Memory of the Quickening
of the Pulse
Krystin Fuller
Poetry
 
I He acknowledged me the month of October: The wind chill grew, the leaves almost fallen, And raindrops had sodden what was left of the grass; The element of nature enticed the beginning and end of the day. What images we have observed The day of his arrival was a brisk cool day. Far from his abode The cars drove past on through the turning roads, The rising moon was unmasked by the billowing clouds; By a quickening pulse The arrival of him was due, but not enough. But for him it was just an ordinary day, An evening of words and glances; The rising of his body never quickened, The outline of his silhouette was present, Thoughts ran through his mind, The temperature of his body unnoticed; he left me untouched. Now he is running through my blood And being responsible for the quickening of the heart. To find this feeling again I am uncertain Never may it return, providing me both heat and cold. The feelings of his touch Are apparent everywhere except upon me. But in the minutes and hours of tomorrow When my mind wanders to him again And my hopes are diminished knowing that A few thoughts will lead me nowhere Far from his touch and the beating within his chest. What images I have observed The day of his arrival was a brisk cool day. II You were foolish like me; your face showed it all: The face of a mundane man, disappointment for me, Words. From you they appear as the world. Now words give me madness because I want touch, For touch is a feeling words no longer can provide In the contours of my body I realize I awake when you are near Would you ever come a little closer, perhaps another year, When the cool night air reaches October. III Bed, invite another soul: He so we can unite souls. Let the bed covers unfold Empty and forever cold. In the far corner of my room All the images of you soon Stare back before my bed Stay, come close I said. Inner attraction Please don’t be distracted And the beatings of me lay. Locked within until you stay. Follow, he, follow here To the head of my bed, With your parting lip, Take my hand, turn, and dip. In the middle of the heart, Let the blood flow and start, In the arrival of you here, Teach me, and ill show you there.