Flesh Against Flesh

Love may make you fall, but hate will see you fallen.

Love is in the air, and it stinks to high heaven of selfish ambition. What are we if we're not in love, to borrow words from another poet. (The answer? Still human.) The pressure mounts, but it doesn't amount to anything. Lies in the heat of the moment, and truth as cold and clear and sharp as glass. No glass can change our focus: the defeat of loneliness or temporary assuaging of desire. And death surrounds, looms large - a deadline bigger than the office cubicle or the aircraft takeoff or the time of your hot date. And where death casts its shadow, other shadows cease to fall. Our consumer atmosphere in February is red and full of heart. But our hearts are merely physical, or consumed by physicality.

Which holds more truth for my generation? Flesh against flesh is good marketing. Flesh against flesh is bloody death.

Descent into blindness may be little different than falling in love - your choices form the movement.

[via You saved my life from a colorless one]