Trust and Tickles 8, 9, 18, 22/12/8 (SOT)

If all shushes you can find what you're looking for right here.
Between the canvas fibres, pre-oil;
a space forever in the life of Our Image.

This, sort of hollowness, against most expectation, *is* substantive.
In there, dwells the different clicking and popping life,
intentless and temperment-less.

The Motiveless Force which exists for its own sake,
can't be found exploring the soak and slide of pillows and sheets
or the vacuum of fissure drafts.

Beyond the void of reflection, beyond all cruel detail,
lie the Unparched Mirages along our travels, hand-in-hand.
Through the giddy thirst, please now, anoint me -- each other.

I've been my own missing link, which if found,
gives me a firm bind to your
asymetric, Perfect Circle.

In mine, a bent reality, the only guarantee is clumsy agitation.
But with touch, your fingers rub my foibles, gently sparking a gladness.
It washes over me. Over we. Over and over.