Greyrock (Precious Things)

/ Daniel Swearingen

Her eyes are on Greyrock, not invested in what I believe, not interested in my virginity. She likes the cool end of the clear, cold water, and when she breathes, she sees, from all the lonely, barren trees around me. Her thoughts whisper come bathe with me. She says, “I am your G_D, these are the better of precious things”.

The white light fades upon Greyrock, the ending of my hopeless faith, of what Tori Amos sung, she said it was her reprieve. The human skin that we trap ourselves in, when we go to war. That we determine is our sex, the life skills of our sum. The stuff we think we are built for. Adonai, Adonai, better I see you, your spirit, fastened brief across the July Colorado sky. You, you, dancing before me, spirit elongated within, without. An ever daring letter, (Ruach) embedded, character, for you I think I’ve sought. That in its self is my precious thing. So better than flesh, a precious thing.

My sweet Danny, Danny, it’s not a part of your virginity. Do you feel me, understand me, want to bathe with me, on Greyrock, here on Greyrock? It becomes for us a precious thing, to know by water and breeze.

The river, below, the great, great plains, the bosom, that part of life, that is real, that constructs your pain. That illusion, that most would call the bed where you have lain. Here on Greyrock, maybe you are fragile, maybe you are strong, may be, just may be it is your precious thing.

The meaning of the day up on Greyrock, the sum of the passion, I sometimes seek. The betterment of all I ever had to offer, was the knowledge life does not end with loss of virginity. And while this world may be spinning in its classless form of struggle, for what means skin or substance, or a better form of me. Greyrock is a lesson of the precious point of living, for it taught me that breath, is blessing G_D while on your back. Taking all you have lost, bowing let it all be cost, and taking your precious things. Those blessings inside your skin that rage. Building them higher. Like Greyrock sits, there higher. Knowing you are filled with precious things. Precious things.

Her eyes are on Greyrock, not invested in what I believe, not interested in my virginity. She likes the cool end of the clear, cold water, and when she breathes, she sees, from all the lonely, barren trees around me. Her thoughts whisper come bathe with me. She says, “I am your G_D, these are the better of precious things”. – 07.06.2016 – דָּנִיֵּאל

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